


Let's Do Armageddon Again

by Sourboi



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Armageddon, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Godparents Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, Opposites Attract
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2020-06-25 17:19:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 20,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19750267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sourboi/pseuds/Sourboi
Summary: Much to Aziraphale and Crowley's dismay, stopping Armageddon once doesn't mean they've stopped it for good. Now they've got a new Prince of Darkness, an army of angels and demons on their tail, and a second chance at not ending the world. Hopefully, they'll be more competent this time (but probably not)





	1. An Unexpected Package

**Author's Note:**

> So I both finished watching and reading Good Omens three days ago, and it's been on my mind ever since. And I got to wondering, well, wouldn't both sides try again? So here we are. Enjoy!

“We can’t very well just leave it outside.” Aziraphale and Crowley stared down at the basket perched on _A.Z. Fell and Co Bookshop_ ’s doorstep. They both knew what was inside. Adam's note had explained everything.  
  
Crowley grasped the basket handle gingerly, as though it might burn him, and carried it into the shop. Aziraphale pulled down the shutters and flipped the sign to Closed. It would likely stay that way for quite some time. He then followed the demon into the back room, where they sat, staring at the wicker basket.  
“We’re not going to keep it, are we?” Crowley asked finally.  
  
“I’m not sure.”  
  
Crowley contemplated this answer, then stood. “I think we’re going to need drinks.”  
  
“I agree,” Aziraphale murmured.  
  
Half a bottle of scotch later, Aziraphale finally worked up the nerve to open the lid. Crowley’s head pressed up next to him, peering into the depths. The baby inside slept, unaware of its surveyors.  
  
“It doesn’t look like a Lord of Darkness,” Aziraphale observed.  
  
“They never do,” Crowley replied. “But Adam’s note said he was sure. I suppose, when you’re a former Antichrist, you get a sense for these things.”  
  
“But where did he get it? _How_ did he get it?” At the sound of Aziraphale’s worry, the Great Beast shifted and sucked its thumb.  
  
Crowley pulled the note from his pocket. Writing covered both sides in tiny, messy scribbles. Crowley squinted behind his sunglasses. “It just says ‘I have acquired him from some unsavory individuals who I suspect mean for him to one day unleash Armageddon.”  
  
“Someone from your lot. Bound to be.” The angel noted.  
  
“Yeah, and they’re bound to be looking for it.”  
  
“All the more reason to keep it hidden.” Aziraphale sipped his scotch nervously and stared at the basket. His leg bounced like a car going down a poorly-maintained road.  
  
“Well yeah, but… “ Crowley trailed off, looking between Zira and the new Antichrist. “No. No, you’re not seriously considering it.”  
  
“What other choice do we have?” Aziraphale exclaimed. The baby turned again in its sleep. Zira lowered his voice and continued. “Adam had good reason to drop it here. His parents would surely notice a new baby that wasn’t theirs, and anyway anyone looking for it would go there first.”  
  
“What about orphanages?”  
  
“Absolutely not. Those places are awful even for human children, and this is the Storm to Come. If we put him there, we might as well just hand him back over to his father.”  
  
“What about Shadwell then? Or Anathema?”  
  
“I barely trusted Shadwell to _find_ the Antichrist the first time. And Ms. Device has made it clear that she’d like a break from fate and supernatural callings for a while. I imagine taking care of a child on her own is keeping her quite busy as it is.”  
  
Crowley groaned. “Come on, there’s got to be someone we can pass him on to.”  
  
“What do you want me to do? Post a sign in the window that says ‘Free baby! Inquire within! Caution, may cause the apocalypse?’”  
  
Crowley made a sound like that had been exactly what he’d expected. Under Aziraphale’s glare, he poured himself another glass of scotch and regarded the baby again. Barely four years of peace, and now this. Ineffable plan or no, he was going to have words with someone.  
  
“What if we took him to Tibet? Got him to be raised by monks or something…” It was a half-hearted idea at best.  
  
Zira placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “They’d know. No matter what we do, they’re going to come after him. From what Adam said, they’re likely already on the hunt. Your side and mine. They’ll be more careful, more dangerous. Anyone we gave him to would be at serious risk. I'm afraid that you and I are the only ones who can really protect him.”  
  
Crowley sighed a deep, long growl, and sank back in his chair. This time he didn’t bother with the scotch glass; he simply drained the whole bottle. Aziraphale looked at him with that look, the one that could melt even the darkest, blackest heart (Crowley’s had been melted a long time ago), and the demon knew he’d give in. Still, he wasn’t ready to build this family quite yet. No, he’d need at least another bottle. By some demonic miracle, one appeared on the table. Crowley flicked the top off and took a swig. “Alright.”

\------------------------------

Several more bottles filtered the first rays of dawn into rainbows on the floor. Zira’s jacket had been draped over the basket, and his waistcoat hung unbuttoned and rumpled from his shoulders. Crowley’s precious glasses sat skewed on his nose. Indents outlined where his face had been pressed against Zira’s shoulder. One of them snored, softly. The other, in their daze of half-sleep, thought it was endearing. As light grew in the room, they began to stir.  
  
Crowley staggered to his feet, drunk on scotch and sleep. Demons didn’t get hangovers, but spending a night drinking and waking up on a hard wood floor would tend to slow anyone’s cognitive functions. “Hey angel,” he slurred, shaking himself into full awareness. “Wake up. Basket's still here.”  
  
Aziraphale woke himself a tad more elegantly, like a bird shaking water from its wings. Gently, he uncovered the basket and removed the sleeping being inside. Its face scrunched into a pile of wrinkles as it too emerged from sleep.  
  
“We’re really keeping it then?” Crowley asked.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
The demon stared down at what might’ve been considered a distant relative by a normal person, supposing that person understood the delicate familial connections of Hell and cared enough to draw them out.  
  
“Did you ever think you’d have kids, angel? Ever, in a million years?”  
  
“It hadn’t really crossed my mind,” Zira admitted. “After all, it would take quite a lot of effort on my part, and…no. I never thought I’d have children.”  
  
“Well. No time like the present, right? So.” Crowley brushed a finger against the impossibly soft skin that only babies crafted to be perfect, cherubic spawns of Satan can have. “I suppose he’s got to have a name, eh?”  
  
“Of course. Although,” Zira trailed off for a moment, delicately lifting the blanket swaddling his charge. “I think it might be better if we gave _her_ a name.”  
  
“Her?” Crowley checked, then looked up at his angel. “Are you sure?”  
  
“I’m fairly sure.” Aziraphale looked unsure for a moment, then nodded. “I’ve read an anatomy book or two, and I'm almost certain it's female.”  
  
“Hm.” Crowley shrugged. “I guess they thought they’d have better luck with the other side.”  
  
“So. What should we name her?”  
  
“Eve,” Crowley suggested immediately.  
  
Aziraphale’s nose wrinkled, and not in the good way. “A bit cliche, don’t you think? I do like the idea of an old name, though. What about Mary?”  
  
“A bit cliche,” Crowley mocked back. “Jezebel?”  
  
“The same name Shadwell calls his girlfriend?”  
  
“Right.”  
  
They both contemplated the baby, exchanging and rejecting other names; Sarah, Rebecca, Miranda. She returned the examination with wide, dark eyes. “She reminds me of…” Aziraphale started, tilted his head, and started again. “How about Olivia?”  
  
Her eyes danced between amber and hickory in the morning light, flickering between Aziraphale’s blue and Crowley’s pale yellow, revealed as he pushed back his glasses. Twitchingly, she began to smile.  
  
“Olivia Fell,” Crowley mused. His fingers caught locks of her dark hair, and she giggled. “I like it.”  
  
“Well then. Happy birthday, Olivia.”  
  
Angel and demon smiled at the child who wasn’t quiet either. A long ways off, more of their kind hunted for what they thought was theirs, but for now, in the pink morning light, they felt safe.


	2. The Nanny and the Gardener

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It turns out that subtly trying to influence the antichrist from the sidelines is very different from actually taking care of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some expository notes: I'm not a super huge fan of Anathema and Newton. I just didn't see it. So, in this divergence, Anathema and Newton split up shortly after the Apocawasn't. Dating the man your great x 5 grandmother predicted you'd date was just too weird for both of them, but they remained very good friends. Anathema didn't realize she was pregnant until after the breakup, but decided she'd make a bad-ass single mom anyway. Asteria travels between Newton's flat and Anathema's cottage and, for a toddler, is quite happy with the arrangement.

No matter how much Aziraphale cooed, bounced, and rocked, Olivia would not stop crying. It was a heartbreaking wail, like she had lost the most important thing in the world. And there was nothing Aziraphale could do about it.  
  
“It’s been over an hour. How much longer can she go on like that?” Crowley asked incredulously over the noise. His hands were clamped firmly over his ears.  
  
“I don’t know,” Zira admitted. He bounced Olivia gently, but that only made her wails bounce with her. “I really don’t know what to do. She’s been changed, fed, and burped. What else do babies need?”  
  
“Beats me.”  
  
It was one thing to be a nanny to the suspected Antichrist. It was quite another to take full, complete guardianship of one. Nannies (and gardeners) have the safety net of real parents to fall back on. If they failed, the true authorities could step in. This time they were on their own. It didn’t help that the first time around, they’d skipped a few crucial years Warlock’s life. There was only so much heavenly or demonic influence to be gained from changing diapers.  
  
“That’s it,” Crowley decided. “We’re taking her back to Adam. His parents raised one Prince of Darkness, they can raise another.”  
  
“No. We said we’d take care of her, and that’s what we’ll do.” Aziraphale sounded desperate. Tears streaked Olivia’s purple-red face. “Oh, I know! Here, hold her for a moment, love.”  
  
He quickly passed the bundle to Crowley’s unexpecting arms and strode across the room. “Music. I remember hearing somewhere that babies respond very well to music. Mozart, especially. Hold on just a moment.” His fingers flicked through a box of faded, frayed record covers. “…around here somewhere…”  
  
“Zira,” Crowley said quietly.  
  
“Just a moment!”  
  
“Angel. She’s stopped.”  
  
Aziraphale turned in the soft silence. Crowley held Olivia with some amount of surprise, hesitation, caution, and another, unplaceable emotion. If he had to say, Aziraphale would’ve said it looked like affection. He didn’t say. Even after all this time, Crowley sometimes got touchy about those four letter words.  
  
Olivia shook her chubby fingers and babbled happily. The screaming demon had completely vanished.  
  
“Well I’ll be damned,” Aziraphale murmured.  
  
Crowley replied without taking his eyes off her. “No, not yet.”  
  
“But I mean look at her.” Aziraphale abandoned his records to join Crowley. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think she likes you.”  
  
“Let’s hope not, for her sake.”  
  
“Oh, come now. Would it truly be so bad for just one more person to like you?”  
  
“Yes, actually it would. I’ve got a reputation to uphold you know, and if I start going around kissing babies then I’d be absolutely ruined.”  
  
Aziraphale smiled. “I can assure you, your reputation with me is quite safe.”  
  
The stiff shell of indignity melted from Crowley’s shoulders. As if he couldn’t help it, he returned his angel’s smile. He looked down at the baby girl in his arms, not quite relaxed, but more comfortable with her there. “I suppose that’s alright then.”  
  
On tiptoe, Aziraphale pecked him on the cheek. “Glad to hear it. Now. Music?”  
  
“Don’t suppose you’ve got any bebop?”  
  
Aziraphale chuckled and selected a particularly nice ABBA record. “I think you’ll like this one.”  
  
As the first strains of _People Need Love_ crackled to life, Crowley rolled his eyes. He held out his free hand for Aziraphale, who took it gladly. “It’s perfect, angel.” Together they swayed slowly around the room, while Olivia laughed between them.

\-----------------------------------------------------

The shop had been closed for over a month, which, for the regular patrons of Soho, wasn’t unusual. Aziraphale had shooed away any tourists and curious wanderers, while Crowley hissed at people over the phone and took quite a lot of joy in it. With the challenge of parenting for the first time, it was unlikely that those doors would open before the year was out.  
  
The bell over the door jingled as someone tried to open it. Aziraphale sighed and set aside his tea. “That’s the second time today. I really don’t know why I bother with a sign at all.”  
  
“I think it’s part of human nature, pulling on closed doors. Like putting the USB in the wrong way every time,” Crowley replied idly, patting Olivia gently on the back.  
  
“Still, I’d prefer not to get up every two seconds to tell some tourist off.”  
  
The bell jingled again as Aziraphale descended to the shop proper. “We’re closed!” He called, irritation seeping into his voice. “I’m terribly sorry, but we’re closed indefinitely. There’s a notice on the door— ”  
  
He swung the door open, and Anathema Device scrutinized him through her glasses. A large, wrapped package sat tucked tightly under her arm. “Hello Aziraphale.” Shadwell hefted a dented box behind her. Madam Tracy brandished a tin of biscuits.  
  
Flustered confusion overrode any previous annoyance. “Ah. Ms. Device. Everyone. Please, do come in.” Aziraphale stepped aside, holding the door. Anathema strode in as if her sole purpose was in that shop. The older couple seemed content to follow at an amble. When everyone had entered, Aziraphale locked the door again behind them, careful to make sure the _Closed_ sign still faced outward. “I apologize, I wasn’t expecting visitors.”  
  
“It’s alright,” Anathema replied, smiling that confident, knowledgeable smile. “I’ve come to see the baby.”  
  
“The baby? What baby? I mean, there’s no— how did you know?”  
  
“I’m not a Descendent anymore, but I’m still a witch. Also Adam told me.” She explained, moving through the bookshop. Her package thumped awkwardly against the shelves.  
  
“We’re really so happy for you both,” Madam Tracy gushed as she passed the angel. “I think you’ll make great parents.”  
  
“Oh. Ah. Thank you.” Aziraphale said, still shaking off surprise. He followed Anathema, clasping his hands anxiously. “It’s only-”  
  
“Zira? What’s all the noise?” Crowley leaned over the bannister, Olive balanced and bouncing over his shoulder. “Oh. Shadwell. What are you doing here?”  
  
“They’ve come to visit. Us.” Aziraphale answered stammeringly.  
  
“Is that him?” Madam Tracy asked as Crowley came the rest of the way down. Olivia burped over his shoulder.  
  
“It’s her, actually. Olivia.” Aziraphale regained some of his confidence as he joined Crowley. Gently, the demon shifted her into the crook of his arm, where she gurgled sleepily.  
  
“Oh, she’s precious,” Madam Tracy cooed.  
  
“Olivia, eh?” Shadwell asked. “And how many-”  
  
Madam Tracy’s glare could’ve cut through solid steel. Shadwell coughed awkwardly. “Er. Sorry. Force of habit.”  
  
“She’s perfectly normal,” Aziraphale said pointedly. His glance at Crowley said not to say otherwise.  
  
“For now, certainly, but I’d be careful when she gets around eleven.” Everyone paused to look at Anathema. “What? I learned my lesson from last time. That baby has no aura.” Everyone kept staring. “Also Adam told me about that too.”  
  
“Of course he did. Cheeky bastard,” Crowley muttered.  
  
“How is Adam?” Aziraphale asked. “We haven’t heard from him since…” he nodded pointedly at Crowley’s arms. “And your daughter, of course. It’s been ages since I’ve seen her. How old is she now; two?”  
  
“Adam is grounded for another week,” Anathema replied. “His father was furious when he stole the car and came back with the front all dented. He’s alright though,” she added on seeing Aziraphale’s worry. “I saw him the other day when I borrowed some sugar from his mum. And Asteria’s fine too; she’s with Newton this weekend. We’re celebrating her third birthday next week.”  
  
Shadwell stepped forward, squinting at the babe. “The lad was right, then? This is the Antichrist? The new one?” He waved a finger in her face. Olive yawned.  
  
“Yeah, we’re pretty sure. The _screaming_ at all hours of the night kind of confirmed it. And speaking of,” Crowley shifted her in his arms. “The Great Beast is ready for her nap.”  
  
“While she gets settled, would anyone care for some tea? I’ve got a lovely lavender Earl Grey.”  
  
Some consensus of agreement rose from the party, and they followed Crowley upstairs to the flat. It was a homey little thing, really meant more for a bachelor than its current occupants. A small bedroom sat half open and discarded in the corner. Books, papers, and various odds competed with potted plants on the tables and counters. Cheerful, dusty golden light floated through the kitchen window, where Aziraphale set about putting on the kettle. Crowley fussed around an old wicker basket with a heap of blankets spilling out the top.  
  
“Oh, do let me help.” Madam Tracy joined Aziraphale, laying out biscuits and sugar and cream on a tray. Crowley gently bundled Olivia in between the blankets and draped a sheet over one end of the basket.  
  
“There we are. Snug as a bug in a mug.”  
  
“I think that’s _rug_ , love,” Aziraphale said absently.  
  
“You let her sleep in _that_?” Madam Tracy asked, sounding scandalized. Both supernatural beings stiffened.  
  
Shadwell frowned. “Aye, even I know that’s not fit for a wee babe.”  
  
“That’s why I brought these. Late birthday present.” Anathema leaned her package against the door frame and gestured for Shadwell to set down his box. “Crib,” she said, patting the large, flat rectangle. “Diapers, baby food, toys, and a few books. A lot of Asteria’s things that she’s getting too old for.” She patted the other box. “You’ll also be wanting a stroller and a seat for that death-trap of a car.”  
  
Angel and demon exchanged a look that confirmed they’d had no idea most of those items existed before today. “Right,” Crowley lied. “That was on my to-do list. Getting around to it.”  
  
“Thank you, Ms. Device, really.”  
  
“Anathema,” she informed Aziraphale. “I’ve told you, it’s just Anathema. Please.”  
  
“Well, Anathema, you have our gratitude. We’ve never really done this before, you see, and it’s all quite new.”  
  
“I can tell.” She smiled again and pushed her glasses back up on her nose. They weren’t falling, but the gesture made her look confident, smart. She liked doing it, especially when she was making a point. “Would you like us to help set it up? They can be a bit tricky; I had to call Newton for help when I was doing it.”  
  
Aziraphale shook his head adamantly. “Oh, I couldn’t possibly allow it. You’ve already done so much. Besides, the tea is just about ready.”  
  
“Oh, excellent,” Shadwell said as they meandered to the parlor. “By the way, have ye got any sweet condensed milk?”

\-----------------------------------------------------

A ring of plastic keys rattled in Olivia’s fist. Aziraphale had pulled it out of Anathema’s box almost three hours ago to distract her, and they were still no closer to assembling her crib.  
  
“Fuck whoever invented the phrase ‘some assembly required,” Crowley cursed. “I’m telling you, this thing was never meant to be assembled.”  
  
“Language, dear,” Aziraphale muttered. His eyes brightened as he attempted to put two pieces together. They didn’t fit. He frowned and reread the instructions he'd already memorized.  
  
“Honestly! I swear, this is some infernal torture device straight from the deepest part of Hell. And trust me, I should know what kind of devices are down there.”  
  
“Relax, it’s alright. Just a bit tricky, is all. Pass me that bit there, would you?”  
  
“Tricky? No, it’s damn impossible.” Crowley threw down the piece he’d been holding and got to his feet. “Stand back, angel.”  
  
“What—” The tools leaped from Aziraphale’s hands. In less than half a second, the crib stood fully assembled in front of them.  
  
“Crowley!”  
  
“What? We were never going to figure it out the old fashioned way.”  
  
“Yes but what if someone _noticed_?”  
  
“Who's around to see? Olivia?”  
  
“You know exactly who I mean. They might be leaving us alone now, but I’d rather not attract any attention to ourselves. And yes, maybe we should avoid these types of things around her as well.”  
  
“Why? She wouldn’t even remember it.”  
  
“Not now, but in a few years she might.”  
  
“So what? We don’t tell her anything until her eleventh birthday, and then suddenly it’s ‘oops, you’re about to start the end of the world, good luck!’  
  
“Maybe it’s for the best. We want to avoid swaying her one way or the other, don’t we?”  
  
Crowley gripped the crib railing. “I don’t know, do we? We both know how well that worked out last time.”  
  
“We didn’t even have the right child last time!”  
  
“But if we had, we would’ve royally fucked up and you know it.”  
  
Aziraphale huffed, looked around dramatically, and huffed again. “Well then what would you suggest?”  
  
“We don’t keep secrets. Tell her everything. About ourselves, about where we come from, about what she’s destined to do- or avoid doing. Subtle influence didn’t work; maybe direct preparation will.”  
  
“And you don’t see any possible way this could go wrong? Revealing the entire nature of heaven and hell?  
  
“Not if we do it right.”  
  
“And if we don’t?”  
  
“We got lucky last time. Maybe we’ll get lucky again.”  
  
“I highly doubt it.”  
  
Their wills clashed over the empty cot. Aziraphale stubbornly crossed his arms, then uncrossed them and clasped his hands instead.  
  
“Angel, if we teach her, guide her in the right direction, we can stop Armageddon. I know we can. You just have to have a little faith.”  
  
The words sounded wrong coming from Crowley. Aziraphale worked hard not to sniff skeptically. “I don’t know,” he finally conceded. “Maybe.”  
  
“Well. We’ve got time to decide. Another few years, at least.”  
  
“In the meantime, we ought to be careful about using miracles on every little thing. As I said, the last thing we want right now is attention.”  
  
Crowley nodded. He could agree with that at least. “Alright. No more demonic miracles. Not less we’re doing diapers.”  
  
Aziraphale shot him a look, but couldn’t help reflecting the demon’s mischievous grin. “Don’t tempt me.”  
  
“Can’t really do anything but.”


	3. Family Reunions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The extended family comes calling. Aziraphale and Crowley would rather they didn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a lot of fun to write, even if I did spent probably way too long on just one or two sentances. As always, enjoy!

“Hey Aziraphale, look! I think she’s—ow!” Olivia pulled with all her strength on Crowley’s earrings. “Ow! Zira, help!”

“Oh, look at that; she’s smiling at you!”

“Yeah, and she’s also about to tear my bloody ear off!”

“Hang on.” Aziraphale disentangled the chubby fist from the jewelry and let her hang onto his finger instead. “You might want to avoid wearing those dangly types for a while.”

“I thought you liked them.”

“I do, and so does she. That’s the whole point,” Aziraphale said. Olivia squealed on cue and reached up for Crowley’s ears again. The demon quickly substituted pain for a rattle. She grasped it in her little hand and cheerfully smacked it against his chest.

“Better be careful, dear, or you’ll become her favorite in no time.” Aziraphale patted her growling curls and returned to the kitchen, where a pot of water simmered on the stove and instructions for formula lay crumpled on the counter. A tinny radio played a waltz in the corner. The angel hummed along idly. “Heaven forbid,” Crowley muttered without an ounce of malice. Olivia’s gurgle sounded almost like a laugh.

“Heaven forbid what, _Crawly_?” The radio crackled. Angel and demon froze. “Because whatever heaven forbids, we’re more than welcome to accept.”

Crowley tried to swallow the lump in his throat and failed. “Abaddon,” he stammered. Olivia cooed, and he quickly pressed a hand over her mouth. One wrong step would bring Hell’s suspicions raining down on them. To cover the sound, cleared his throat and tried to sound suave. “What a surprise. Haven’t heard from you in a while.”

“Mm, yes, well,” Abbadon’s velvet voice purred. “Things have been quite stirred up lately. Lots of chaos. I must say, you’ve done an excellent job.”

“Really?” Crowley exchanged a surprised look with Aziraphale. “And what, exactly, have I done an excellent job on?”

“Why, Armageddon, of course! Convincing the angels to stand down of their own free will, I’ll tell you, that was a stroke of genius. It will take _centuries_ for their morale to recover.”

“Erm. Thanks.” If there had ever been a part of Crowley that had been proud to receive these praises, it was long buried. Stirring slightly, maybe, but shoved aside for concern and a general desire to be left alone with his angel. Olivia squirmed under his hand, and he silently prayed that the radio would go back to playing whatever archaic tune Aziraphale had put on.

“You’re quite welcome,” Abaddon purred. “You know, Crawly, based on your performance, we’re prepared to put aside your past…missteps.”

“Oh really?”

“Absolutely. We completely understand, of course; trying to take on the task of corrupting an angel _alone_. Well. It was an admirable effort. And we’ll look past your failure, in exchange for one small favor.”

Crowley wanted to tell Abaddon _no thanks, and kindly fuck off until the end of time_. He wisely kept his mouth shut. 

“All you need to do, Crawly, is find the Antichrist.” 

His grip momentarily tightened around the baby in his arms. Aziraphale moved at the same time, stepping partially between Crowley and the radio. “Oh, is that all?” Crowley managed.

“Yes. We seem to have…misplaced her, as it were. And since you were our _best_ operative, we thought you might like a chance at redemption.”

Crowley had never asked for redemption. Not when he Fell, not when he fought with Aziraphale, and not now. “I’ll think about it,” he said casually. He could feel a scream building up under his hand. “Kind of happy where I’m at right now, though, to be honest.”

Abaddon’s silky voice sharpened. “Do not play games with us, Crawly. You may be immune to Holy Water, but there are still plenty of ways to remove you from the picture.”

“Yeah, I’m sure. Ah. Something’s come up. Great chat, let’s do it again sometime. _Ciao_.” Crowley strode two steps across the flat, picked up the radio, and smashed it just as a wail burst from Olivia’s lungs. Aziraphale stared at the bits of wire and metal with horror and revulsion.

“You’re not planning on actually…”

“Of course not, angel. You really think I’d spend six thousand years keeping you out of trouble just to give you up now?”

“No, you’re right. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright.” Crowley passed the hiccuping babe to Aziraphale and waved a hand over the radio’s remains. They neatly collected themselves and piled into the trashcan by the door.

Aziraphale bounced Olivia gently, shushing her with a soft voice until her cry turned into a whimper. Crowley poured them both a drink and gave the trashcan a wide berth. It would be harmless now, but he’d be hearing Abaddon’s voice for days.

“Much obliged,” Aziraphale murmured. He took a sip and regarded the contents of the glass. “Do you think they know? That we have her, I mean?”

“They’d be doing more than a house call over the radio if they knew.”

The angel downed the last of his glass. He grimaced as he swallowed, at both the sharp, burning taste and at the idea of what the agents of hell might do to them if they discovered the Antichrist in their flat. “In that case, I don’t think I’ll be replacing the radio.”

“Probably for the best” Crowley agreed. “I’ll get you some new records to make up for it.”

“Thank you. Try to find some of that music you like, too…Bow and all them.”

“You mean _David Bowie_?”

“Yes, exactly.”

Crowley rolled his eyes behind his glasses. “Honestly, angel, sometimes I wonder why I even try.”

\-----------------------------------------------------

Aziraphale hummed to himself as he unlocked the shop. He and Crowley had settled into a semblance of a routine, and they hadn’t had a major crisis in almost a month. Besides, as much as he hated to actually rid himself of his collection, some part of him missed running the bookshop. The odd collectors perusing the shelves, the lively conversations with students who had more essays than sense. He missed repairing books, feeling the fine paper and ink under his fingers. He even missed the challenge of convincing a potential customer out of a sale. So, at just before midday on a Tuesday, he opened the shutters and flipped the sign in the window to open. The bolt slid back with a satisfying click; _A. Z. Fell and Co Bookshop_ was, again, open for business.

“Hello, Aziraphale. I’d like to purchase some of your material items.” Gabriel’s cold, cheerful voice said behind him. 

Aziraphale whirled, straightening into an almost military posture. “Gabriel. Ah. Hello. So nice to see you again.”

Gabriel stepped closer, casually stalking his prey. “Can’t say the same, Aziraphale. You’ve put us in a very tricky position. I’ll be frank with you; it’s a mess. Six thousand years of preparation, down the drain.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Aziraphale said, not very sorry at all. “You know, I’d love to help, really. But-”

“Oh, good. I’m glad to hear it.” Gabriel smiled. He looked like a parent pretending to enjoy the meal his toddler had made out of play-dough. “Because we actually could use your help.”

“As I said, I’d love to, but my hands are full. Really, I’ve got no time. And anyway, I thought I’d been put on indefinite suspension.”

“Water under the bridge. We’re willing to give you a second chance.”

“I see.”

“Oh, don’t sound so put out. This is good news!” The archangel exclaimed. “You’re getting a chance to prove yourself and, if you get this right, you’ll be top angel. King of the hill. Maybe you could even be promoted to archangel.”

Footsteps punctuated Gabriel’s point. He glanced heavenward, amused. “You could even keep that demon of yours. As a pet, of course.”

An urge to strangle Gabriel welled up inside Aziraphale, and he swallowed to keep it down. “Zira!” Crowley called from upstairs. “I think we’re almost out of milk.”

“Ah. I-I’m with a customer, Crowley!”

“Oh, sorry. I was just letting you know that we might pop down to the store for a bit.”

Crowley’s black leather shoes appeared on the top step. He was speaking lightly to someone. No, not just anyone. He’d developed that tone for only one person. “Could-could you hang on a moment, dearest? I’ve got a list for you.”

“Alright. Suit yourself. But I’m not getting any more Bordeaux!” Normally Aziraphale would’ve huffed and said something about the bouquet, but he kept himself silent. As long as Crowley stayed upstairs, he could buy whatever wine he wanted. Crisis averted, he turned back to find Gabriel looking at him with a mixture of typical smugness and new disgust.

“You don’t have to be so concerned. I’m not here for him. I do have to say though, it’s incredible,” he said. The way he said it, it sounded like he meant _despicable_. “It must’ve been difficult, keeping him on a leash like that all this time. Truly, commendable. I understand now, how you slipped up at the end. I truly do.”

“Gabriel,” Aziraphale interrupted, all too glad to cut this short. “What exactly do you want?”

“It’s simple. We have reliable intel that the other side has misplaced the Antichrist.” Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Yes, I know. Again. Honestly, I don’t even want to think about the paperwork. Anyway. Since you did a fantastic job locating him last time, we thought you’d like another go. So. What do you say?”

“I…I…” Aziraphale glanced upward, where Crowley still bustled around the flat. He’d be coming down again any minute. Aziraphale had to choose his words carefully, or else Gabriel would take it out on the shop or worse, on Crowley. He had to think of a good excuse. _Think_. “I’m afraid I can’t,” he stammered. “My network is all ruined, you see. It will take years to rebuild. Until then, I’m all but useless. So sorry, but there’s really no way I can help.”

If Gabriel was disappointed by the news, he hid it well behind a face of a manager who was just waiting for the right moment to fire an unfortunate employee. “Well. Think about it. Our offer won’t stand forever. And, Aziraphale, I have to say: we’ll be very disappointed if you don’t accept. Very disappointed.”

Aziraphale nodded. “I understand.” 

“Good.” Gabriel’s ice white teeth burned in a cold smile and then he was gone. Only then did Aziraphale allow himself to slump against the door, as if he’d been held up only through fear of a higher authority.

“Angel?” Crowley trotted down the steps again, stroller under one arm and Olivia in the other. “Everything alright?”

Aziraphale nodded, but his hands worried away behind his back. “It’s fine. I’m fine. I’ve just. Ah. I’ve had a visitor. From upstairs.”

“Who was it?” Aziraphale couldn’t see it, but he was sure Crowley’s eyes narrowed to slits behind his glasses. “What did he want?”

“Gabriel. He was after the same thing Abaddon wanted.”

“Oh.” Crowley absorbed this information with the stillness of a snake about to strike. “And you said…”

“I said no, obviously! But we’re going to have to be careful in the future. Very careful.”

“Agreed.” Crowley leaned the stroller against the door frame. His fingers worked their way between Aziraphale’s, holding them tight. If the angel had asked, he never would’ve let go. “Maybe I should postpone the grocery run until tomorrow.”

“Probably for the best.” With his free hand, Aziraphale pulled the shutters back down over the window and locked the door. It wouldn’t be enough to stop anyone who really wanted to come in, but at least it gave them both a sense of security. A harmless white lie that neither wanted to admit. Not yet.

  



	4. Adam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Decisions, decisions. None of them easy. Most are rushed into with no regard for the consequences, and this time really isn't that different. Except that it totally is.

Someone was knocking on the door. 

“Now who could that be at this hour?” Aziraphale wondered, glancing at Crowley. The demon gave a casual shrug. 

“Beats me. Can’t be my lot; they’d just melt the lock.”

“Nor mine.”

They both looked at the stairs leading to the bookshop. The knocking didn’t go away, much as they wanted it to miraculously disappear. They looked back at each other. 

A silent, heated battle waged between them. “It’s your shop,” Crowley pointed out.

“Fine,” Aziraphale relented. Crowley heard the bell ringing, muffled voices, and then Aziraphale calling up to him.

“Crowley! We’ve got guests! Come down and say hello! And bring Olivia.”

Crowley huffed to himself at the notion of getting up but removed himself from his armchair nonetheless. His long arms scooped Olivia from her chair, where she’d finished her masterpiece of _potatoes on plastic tray_ and settled her against his hip for the saunter down.

Aziraphale was speaking gamely to someone at the door. As Crowley approached, he stepped aside to reveal a familiar but much taller head of perfect blonde curls. “Look who it is!” Aziraphale announced. 

A half-smile slithered onto Crowley’s face and settled there. “Adam! Good to see you, lad." 

“Olivia,” Aziraphale said to the toddler in Crowley’s arms. “This is Adam Young. I suppose you’d consider him your half-brother.”

Olivia took her fingers out of her mouth long enough to point at Adam. “Dum!”

Crowley snorted.

“No. _Adam_ ,” Aziraphale repeated, with emphasis on the ‘A’.

“Dum.”

Aziraphale dismayed.

“It’s alright, Mr. Fell.” Adam smiled and held out a hand. Olivia grasped one of his fingers in her saliva-and-potato-coated fist. “We met before, but you probably don’t remember me.”

Olivia jabbered something that could’ve been ‘ _no, of course I remember you Adam, first Antichrist and Prince of Darkness_ ’, but probably wasn’t anywhere close. Satisfied with her conversation skills, she happily returned to chewing on her fist.

Adam wiped his own fingers on his shirt. “Charming.”

“Isn’t she?” Crowley agreed. “Taught her everything she knows.”

“Which explains why her manners are so atrocious,” Aziraphale jabbed. “Here, come in my boy, have a seat.”

Adam followed Aziraphale into the bookshop. Another figure lingered at the doorway and coughed politely. Adam startled like he’d just remembered she was there. “Guys,” he said, waving a hand at the woman in the rectangle of light from the doorway. “This is my sister, Sarah.”

“Nice to meet you,” Sarah said, in a way that implied she wasn’t actually sure whether or not it was, in fact, nice to meet them. Despite being totally unrelated biologically, they did actually look fairly similar. They both had blonde hair, although Sarah’s was a little duller, and freckles dusting their cheeks like snow. The only major difference was age; she looked older than him by a good ten years at least. She had that air that adults with teenagers often had, where they knew an idea was a bad one but they were going along with it anyway if only to make sure nobody ended up in jail.

“The pleasure’s all mine,” Aziraphale replied automatically. He glanced from her to Adam. No doubt she’d heard his comment about Adam being Olivia’s half-brother. 

As if he’d read Aziraphale’s mind, Adam spoke up. “It’s alright, Mr. Fell. I told her all about you and Mr. Crowley and what happened at Tadfield.”

“Really?” Crowley spared a look to Sarah. 

Her expression shifted gears, veering towards incredulous and a little frightened. “Yes. I didn’t believe it at first, but then Adam showed me his powers and…well, I still have a hard time believing it, but he _has_ always been a little troublemaker. It’s not a very far stretch to call him the spawn of Satan.”

Adam made a face at his older sister and missed the shiver that ran through Crowley’s body. Everyday invocations wouldn’t bring the big man up, but he tried to stay away from them as much as possible. To him, it had the same effect when humans said things like ‘what could possibly go wrong’ or ‘this couldn’t get any worse’. It was just tempting fate too much. 

“Well. Regardless of whether or not you believe in us, you’re very welcome to come in.”

Sarah stepped inside, and when she didn’t spontaneously combust or turn into a frog, she relaxed a little. Crowley spared a snap of his fingers to lock up the shop again while Aziraphale led everyone else upstairs. 

“Here, have a seat. We’ve finished supper, but I believe there are some leftovers in the fridge if you’re hungry.”

“Oh, no, thanks. I’m good,” Adam said. Sarah remained silent, which either meant she wasn’t hungry or that she didn’t trust the cooking of immortal beings.

They followed Aziraphale up into the kitchen, still warm from the evening’s meal. Crowley set Olivia on the rug in the parlor and then joined them as well, leaning against the counter in true slothful fashion.

“Are you sure? I could make some tea, or cocoa if you prefer,” Aziraphale continued, putting six thousand years of hosting to use.

“Have you got any coffee?”

Aziraphale hesitated. “I’m not quite sure coffee is good for someone your age.”

“Nonsense,” Crowley dismissed. “He’s, what. Sixteen? A little caffeine won’t hurt him.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Sarah said. “He practically guzzled the stuff during finals week. As if he’s not hyperactive enough already.”

Sensing he was close to losing the argument, Aziraphale turned to put the kettle on. For himself, Crowley conjured a brandy and regarded Adam and his sister behind a pair of void-black lenses. “So. To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“I came to check up on you guys. And her,” Adam replied, nodding towards the parlor. “I’m sorry I had to dump her on you so suddenly, but I didn’t know where else to go.”

“Oh, it’s perfectly alright,” Aziraphale assured him. “We don’t mind. Actually, we’ve been somewhat concerned about you. Dealing with demons is no easy matter, you know.”

Crowley chuckled into his glass. 

“No, I know. Sorry. I probably should’ve called sooner.”

“It’s alright. I’m just glad you got away safely.” Aziraphale said again, placing a steaming cup in front of Adam, and another in front of Sarah. The teen wrapped his hands around the warm mug gratefully. “If you don’t mind…how _did_ you get away?” 

“It was actually pretty easy. I don’t think demons are very bright, to be honest.” Adam risked a glance at Crowley. “No offense.”

The demon shrugged. “None taken. Most of them haven’t got a brain cell to share.”

Aziraphale looked like he wanted to say something a little pointed and a little prickly but thought better of it. Instead he sat across from the two humans and summoned a cup of cocoa for himself. “Still. There must be more of a story.”

“Alright. So, a couple weeks beforehand, Wensleydale called me from up in Manchester— he’s in this really great maths program, they’ve got him doing loads of equations and stuff. And then Wensleydale noticed this really ugly bloke hanging around the neighborhood. I mean really just awful. Wensleydale said he was almost sick the first time he saw him. Probably scared off half the neighborhood like that.” 

Aziraphale coughed politely. Adam took his point. 

“Yeah. Anyway, Wensleydale noticed him hanging around that couple’s house and thought he might be a demon, ‘cause he’d seen ‘em before, and he kept seeing more of them hanging around. He called me and told me to come up ‘cause he was worried. So I stole my dad’s car, and I drove up to Manchester to sort of check it out. And Wensleydale was right, that guy was _really_ ugly, and he had a bunch of friends with him. They were inside this one house, talking with a couple. And then that fly lady, Beetlejuice? The one from the airbase? She showed up and she had this basket and I could just _tell_ what it was. Like when you smell the air and you know it’s going to rain before there’s even any clouds. I was going to just destroy it right there, you know, avoid Armageddon, but then it started crying and I didn’t know what to do and…I kind of hit her with the car.”

Crowley couldn’t help but snort into his cup. If he’d had anything that resembled a human anatomy, his brandy would’ve come out his nose. Aziraphale shot the both of them scathing looks. Not that it had any effect on Crowley.

“I didn’t know what else to do!” Adam protested. “She was just right there! I needed to distract her somehow and that was the only thing I could think of! I made sure the basket didn’t get damaged or anything though.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Crowley said between gasps. “I only wish I could’ve been there to see the look on her face.”

Aziraphale frowned at both Adam’s solution and Crowley’s reaction to it. “I can’t say I approve of your methods, Adam, but there’s nothing much we can do about it now. Please, continue.”

“Yeah, sure. Anway. I grabbed the basket and just got the hell out of there as fast as I could. One of the women had called the cops, but I lost them pretty easily. Dark roads and all. Only I didn’t know where else to go, and I was worried that if those demons had seen me they might attack my parents or something, so I that’s why I brought her to you. Sorry I didn’t warn you or nothing.”

“Well,” Aziraphale said when it was all said and done. He certainly hadn’t expected anything like that. It was reckless and poorly planned and incredibly lucky that it had succeeded at all. That is to say, it was completely Adam. “That certainly makes quite a story. Although in the future I do hope you’ll come to us before chasing after demons on your own. Or any other supernatural forces, for that matter.”

“I will,” Adam promised. 

Crowley was still sniggering over the whole _ran Beelzebub over with a van_ bit. “I honestly can’t believe you pulled that off. No wonder Hell was so pissed. All those great big plans, thwarted by some teen in a lorry.”

A smile flickered at Aziraphale’s mouth. He wasn’t terribly fond of demons, with one notable exception, and Beelzebub was near the top of that distasteful list. Getting hit with a car was the very least she deserved. 

Sarah had been sitting quietly through the whole story, holding her coffee close but not quite nursing it. She still looked terribly anxious. For the first time, Aziraphale wondered exactly what sort of religious upbringing Adam and Sarah had been given. “Forgive me for being forward,” he stated. “But you’re not grounded anymore, yes? And I know you have your license. So why…”

“Am I here?” Sarah finished. “Well. It’s kind of. It’s. Adam, you tell them, it was your bloody idea.”

Adam busied himself with a long sip of coffee before he spoke. “When I dropped her off last year, I wasn’t really thinking; I just wanted to get her somewhere safe and out of the way. But then I realized you guys probably didn’t want to get stuck raising _another_ Antichrist, you know, since you’re,” he gestured vaguely. “Retired. Suspended. On your honeymoon. However you want to put it. And Sarah and her partner were looking into adoption and she already knew about me so I thought why not?”

He paused then, glancing at his sister. Sarah imitated her brother in taking a drink. The hot coffee seemed to fortify her; she looked that much more confident when she spoke. “I think he’s just about explained everything, but yes. My partner and I are at a stage where we’d like to raise a child, and we’d be more than willing to take her off your hands.”

Silence stuffed the already warm kitchen. As soon as she’d finished, Sarah had retreated into her mug, and the angel and demons’ reaction didn’t help in the slightest. Aziraphale looked back at Crowley, who very deliberately set his glass on the counter. 

“I wouldn’t mind that she’s the Antichrist,” Sarah said almost to Aziraphale. “Adam could help with that, and I can’t imagine raising a child from hell would be that much more difficult than any other type.”

“Hmmm,” Aziraphale mused, somewhat reluctantly. “It’s not a bad idea. She’d certainly be more hidden with you than she would with us. Crowley, what do you think?”

The demon, ignoring his cue, summoned a bottle of brandy and refilled his drink. When he’d topped it off near the brim, carefully recapped the bottle, and downed nearly half the glass in one go, he finally allowed himself to speak. “I think she’d be better off staying with us.”

“Really?” Aziraphale asked, unable to keep the surprise from his voice. “When Adam dropped her off, you wanted to—“

Crowley interrupted again, pushing off the counter. “Could I talk to you for a minute?”

Aziraphale looked more than a little annoyed at being cut off, but he nevertheless followed Crowley into the parlor. Oblivious to her tenuous fate, Olivia smashed colorful blocks together on the floor and smiled up at them as they entered. "Da!"

Crowley flopped into the armchair, then immediately changed his mind and flung himself back out. He began pacing the floor in long strides. Just watching him made Aziraphale feel dizzy. “I really think we should keep her.”

“Crowley, be reasonable. We don’t know the first thing about raising a child. Properly, I mean. I know you were close with Warlock, but a nanny is a far cry from a parent. Honestly, I don’t know what’s gotten into you. A year ago you want to send her off to…to Tibet!.”

“Maybe I changed my mind! After all, you said it yourself. She’d probably be safer with us if either side actually manages to track her down.”

“But the chances of them actually finding her with us are much higher. We've already had two close calls! Not to mention the fact that we seriously risk tipping the scales if we get this wrong.“

“And what if she gets it wrong? I know she’s Adam’s sister, but she doesn’t know the first thing about how Heaven and Hell actually work.”

“Adam’s mother seemed to do just fine.”

“She got lucky.”

“I understand that you don’t want to make the same mistakes as last time, but honestly, Crowley, I just want what’s best for _her._ ”

“So do I!”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“I…” Crowley sighed and sat down again. Olivia, who’d been watching him pace like a cat watching a piece of string, crawled over and sat at his feet. When Crowley made no move to pick her up, she reached for him and then, still eliciting no response, became wholly engrossed in her thumbs. As much as Crowley chided him for being stubborn, Aziraphale thought sometimes Crowley could be even more so. Especially when it came to emotions and the acknowledgment of.

“Do you want to keep her, Crowley?”

“Do you?”

Aziraphale looked down at Olivia. She twisted around to wave up at him, proudly showing off her discovery of all five fingers. She didn’t look any more like the Harbinger of death than Warlock had. No, she looked like just the opposite. “Yes. I think I do.”

“Then it’s decided.” Crowley lifted Olivia onto his hip and led the way back into the kitchen. Adam and Sarah broke off from their discussion as they entered. Adam’s cup was noticeably bigger, and still full despite being drained throughout the evening.

“Sarah,” Aziraphale said. With that one word, her shoulders slumped. “We really must thank you for coming all this way and offering to take on the responsibility of raising the antichrist. It couldn’t have been an easy decision, by any means. However, Crowley and I agree that it would be in Olivia’s best interests to stay with us.”

“Are you sure?” Sarah pressed, still humanly hopeful. “I mean, you two aren’t exactly…well I mean, you’ve never been parents before.”

“Neither have you,” Crowley pointed out.

Aziraphale smiled reassuringly. “I’m sure we’ll figure it out.”

“I’ll be around if you need me,” Adam said. “For Antichrist stuff, I mean. I dunno how to take care of kids.”

“Thank you, Adam. The offer is greatly appreciated.”

Sarah and her brother stood, and Sarah offered her hand. Aziraphale took it warmly. Although her disappointment was clear, Sarah plastered a smile on her face. “Well. It was nice meeting you both, anyway. Good luck with, er, with everything.”

“Demons don’t need luck,” Crowley muttered, but only within Aziraphale’s hearing. The angel escorted the two humans out and came back looking a little worn, but happy too. “I know why you changed your mind.”

Crowley masterfully arched a brow. “Oh, do you?”

“Yes. And I must admit, I feel the same.”

“Oh?”

“Yes.” 

Aziraphale ran a hand through Olivia’s curls and smiled fondly at her. That heart-melting smile then turned on Crowley, and before he could say something sarcastic, Aziraphale placed a kiss on his lips. “I think we made the right choice.”

“Er. Yeah. Me too.” And despite himself, he smiled.


	5. Learning Curve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale isn't quite sure how to deal with his new ward. Crowley doesn't help at all.

“Papa!”

“I don’t know why she always calls for me,” Aziraphale complained. “You’re the one who can actually calm her down.”

Crowley shrugged in a rather fluid movement. 

“Maybe she’s confused. Maybe when she says ‘papa’, she means you. It would certainly make sense; after all, I can’t imagine a baby would know the difference—”

“Just go to her, angel,” Crowley ordered, a smile playing at his lips. “I’ll be right here for backup if you need it.”

Aziraphale huffed and muttered something about being able to make anyone cry. It wasn’t that he didn’t _like_ Olivia. On the contrary, she was a very sweet little girl. But she was also just under a year old. Aziraphale had never dealt with anyone with whom he couldn’t hold a decent conversation. So far, his attempts with Olivia had been in vain; she seemed to understand well enough, but her vocabulary was limited to very short phrases consisting of mostly one-syllable words. Hardly means for a riveting discussion.

“Papa!” 

“I’m right here, Olive,” Aziraphale assured her, lifting her from her crib. She stopped screaming in his ear, but the tears kept flowing. “What is it? Are you hungry?” No response. She didn’t need a change, thank goodness, but that about reached the end of his list of things a toddler might want. “Come on, use your words.”

Her words were a series of muffled wails into his shirt. “I don’t know what you want!” He told her desperately. If she understood at all, she didn’t show it. In a last-ditch effort, he tried rubbing her back and hushing her, like Crowley did. It didn’t help.

“Oh, what’s the point? Look, I’ll just call Crowley in and he’ll sort you out. He’s very good at getting out of trouble, you know. I remember once, we’d gone up to Moscow for a job; it was supposed to be quite simple. He was encouraging strikes and protests and I was doing a few miracles at Saint Basil’s cathedral. Only the protests didn’t quite go as expected and the next thing we knew we were in the middle of a revolution. I blame Crowley for the whole mess—it was his idea to get the troops to defy orders, after all—but really it wasn’t his fault it turned into a full-blown coup. Anyway. We were smack in the middle of Moscow looking every bit like the nobles that were being rounded up by the rebels. I wanted to hide in the cathedral, but of course, that wouldn’t do for Crowley, with his feet you know, and we wound up captured still arguing about whether or not to try the trains. But before they could send us off—and not in the pleasant sense— Crowley managed to convince one of the lieutenants to—”

He didn’t know he was rambling until he realized his voice was the only one in the room. He stopped suddenly, looking down at the little girl with surprise. Olivia was staring at him with a smile bright enough to outshine her dark eyes. That look alone put Aziraphale at a loss for words. Even more surprising was Crowley, leaning against the doorframe and smirking with a telltale ‘I told you so’ written all over his face. “Well go on then,” he encouraged. “Finish telling her about how I singlehandedly saved us from the entire Red Army.”

“I wouldn’t go so far as to say singlehandedly. Or saved. And I don’t think it’s fair giving you credit when it was your fault in the first place.”

“Oh, it wasn’t _all_ my fault. They were going to revolt sooner or later. I just sort of gave them a nudge in the right direction.”

“More like a push off a cliff,” Aziraphale said to Olivia. “Your daddy is a magnet for trouble if I ever saw one. Probably why he’s so good at getting out of it.”

“It’s all practice,” Crowley confirmed. “Tell you what, you go ahead and finish your story, and I’ll heat up some cocoa.”

“I think not. I refuse to encourage a bad example.”

“Make one up then.”

“You know I’m no good at improvisation. ”

“Told you you should’ve taken a class. Improv is a rubbish form of comedy. One of my finer works, if I do say so myself.”

“You do. No one else does,” He teased as he moved past Crowley and into the parlor. “Well, I think the Russian Revolution is a bit violent, but I do have a better story, I think.” Aziraphale settled into his armchair with Olivia tucked neatly under his arm. He cleared his throat and began. “Let’s see. It was…1512 I think? 1518? Somewhere around there. Anyways. Crowley and I met up in Strasbourg for a spell, and we had this spat. Awful. I believe it was about dancing because after I left— I thought you were making cocoa?” He glanced up, where Crowley still leaned against the doorway. 

Nothing about him could ever be described as soft, but his smile might have been said by certain angels to be gentle. “I like hearing your stories.”

Aziraphale tittered. “Of course you’d like this one. You didn’t shut up about that commendation for months.”

“Still.”

“Fine. I’ll tell it loud enough for you to hear from the kitchen. Now shoo.”

Crowley did shoo, in a way that an observer might’ve thought it was his idea all along, and when Aziraphale heard the telltale rush of a kettle filling up, he began again. “He set half the city to dancing in the streets. They couldn’t stop for days, poor things. He must’ve modeled it after himself because the style was just awful. All knees and elbows.”

Crowley made a face at Aziraphale from the kitchen. Aziraphale returned the favor. Olivia laughed, reaching up, and Aziraphale pulled her closer, meeting her earth eyes with his sky. Crowley set one steaming mug next to him and settled himself in the other chair. “Go on.”

“I _am_. About a month after I left I hear about this plague afflicting the city, four hundred people dancing without stop. Naturally, I came back as soon as I could to help, and of course I find him nearly passed out in…well, it was a sort of…”

“Just say it. A tavern.”

“Yes, fine, a tavern. He was pouting something awful—”

“I wasn’t pouting!”

“Oh yes you were. Refused to even speak to me at first. Finally, I convinced him that the reason I’d refused to dance with him was that I couldn’t dance—”

“It’s true, you really can’t.”

“I can! And kindly stop interrupting. So. I convinced him that I was embarrassed about it— _which I wasn’t_ — and he promised to put an end to the dancing plague nonsense on the condition that he give me lessons sometime. And then, of course, we both received commendations from our respective superiors for dealing with each other’s nonsense, which was, in itself, ridiculous.”

“I don’t think so; I quite earned that one. And you know, I never did give you that lesson.”

“Oh, I don’t think I could ever hope to copy those flash moves of yours.”

“No, you’re too attached to that damn…what do you call it? Gavial? Gavotte. Which reminds me. Do you remember that time in 1789, when I had to rescue you from getting your head cut off?”

“Oh god, Crowley, don’t start.”

“It was like yesterday. There I was in France, minding my own business…” Crowley told the story with a reasonable amount of flair, while Aziraphale winced and made faces and Olivia smiled in his arms, entranced by the tales they told late into the night.


	6. Faith and Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A discussion, an argument, a decision, and a promise.

“I’ll tell you now, it’s nothing compared to the real thing,” Aziraphale warned, setting his tea on the end table. Late fall sunlight flooded the parlor, adding warmth to the good drinks and good company. “They’ve really let Babylon go to ruin, I’m afraid.”

Newton’s mouth dropped open. “You’re joking. There’s no way… you mean you were  _ actually _ there?”

“‘Course he was, he’s six thousand years old,” Anathema said, although she couldn’t help looking a little skeptical herself.

“I am being perfectly serious. And I’m well over six thousand, thank you very much. Just because the Earth is that old doesn’t mean we are.”

“Yeah,” Crowley chimed in from his spot next to Aziraphale on the couch. “You know, I actually helped make the stars, way back when.”

“That’s insane.” Newton laughed, the way people do when they’re confronted with something new and strange and a little bit intimidating. “That’s really insane.” Anathema shot him a look that clearly said  _ shut up _ . “What?” 

“You’re being rude.”

“Oh, it’s quite alright,” Aziraphale assured him. “I can’t imagine it’s easy accepting everything, even after all this time.”

Crowley snorted and mumbled something into his cup. Aziraphale gave him the same look.  _ Be nice _ . Anathema and Newton were only human, after all. And they’d been doing a remarkable job of not breaking down completely in the face of the absolute Truth of the universe.

“You’d be surprised.” Anathema shrugged. “When you spend your whole childhood learning how to decipher ancient prophecies, you get really used to rolling with the punches.”

“Oh yeah, I bet,” Crowley said.

“Are you ever gonna tell her?” Newton asked suddenly. He nodded at the two toddlers on the parlor floor, playing together in the distant, distracted way toddlers played. Olivia’s skin was darker than Asteria’s—olive-toned, in fact—but aside from that, they could have been siblings. “About you lot, and who she really is?”

Angel and demon exchanged a glance. “We’re not quite sure yet,” Aziraphale replied. “It’s complicated.”

“Well you can’t just…hide it from her. I mean, she’s the…” Newton gestured vaguely at the toddler. “You know. End of the world and all that.”

“Of course we know,” Crowley snapped. “That’s what I keep telling him.”

“And I keep telling you, Crowley, it’s meddling with the order of things.”

Anathema nodded. “I’m with Aziraphale. I spent my whole life preparing for just one event. I never had a childhood, never had friends. I’m glad I could help stop Armageddon, but I could never wish that kind of life on someone else.”

“Thank you,” Aziraphale said pointedly. “That’s exactly what I’ve been trying to tell him for the past two years!”

“But this is different!” Crowley protested. “Anathema, no offense, but you’re just a human.” Anathema looked mildly offended. Crowley continued, “Olivia is something else entirely. She’ll have the ability to shape reality at will. She might even destroy it if we’re not careful.”

“Sounds like every other kid to me.” Newton shrugged. Aziraphale suspected that he’d never spent much time around children before. 

“Exactly my point,” Aziraphale said. “She’s no different from any other child, and we shouldn’t treat her otherwise.” He sipped his tea pensively. “Adam had a fairly normal childhood, from what I can gather, and he turned out fine.”

“Just barely. According to his friends, he was this close to ending it all. And he didn’t even know what he was doing or why he was doing it! If we can just prepare her-”

“Enough.” The ancient china cup set firmly into its saucer in what was, for Aziraphale the equivalent of slamming it on the table. “We are not having this argument.” 

“But—”

“We have guests, Crowley.” 

As if to make his point, Anathema and Newton had adopted those expressions of people who were trying to be supportive but would’ve honestly rather been stranded on the moon. Crowley silently refilled his own teacup with something that smelled an awful lot like alcohol and looked like brandy pretending to be tea. He drank, and the adults watched Asteria and Olivia babble at each other in whatever language they understood. 

“Is parenting always this hard?” Crowley asked when he’d gone through about half his cup.

“As far as I can figure, yeah. Kind of surprised you’ve never done this before,” Anathema said.

“Well. There was that one time on the Ark.”

“That doesn’t count. You only had them for forty days,” Aziraphale said.

“Alright then,” Crowley countered. “What about Warlock? Whether or not he was the right boy, we still raised him.”

Aziraphale arched a brow. “Hardly. We skipped the first few years, remember? Came in when he was about three, I think?”

“That explains a lot,” Anathema said into her cup. 

“Oh, and I suppose you have years of experience behind you?” Crowley asked.

“No. But I can always call my mom if I’m having trouble.”

A silence pillowed the room as Anathema realized what she’d said. “Oh, no. I just meant that I actually _have_ a mom. And she’s there whenever I need her. Like I can call her, and she'll help me out, and this isn’t coming out at all how I wanted.”

“It’s alright,” Aziraphale reassured her. It wasn’t actually alright, but these things were complicated. He wasn’t sure he even really understood it all. Or that he wanted to, for that matter. “No harm done.”

“Do you ever talk to Him, then?” Newton asked, clearly taking ‘ _no harm done_ ’ to mean ‘ _please let's keep talking about this_.’ Anathema visibly cringed. “Since you’re an angel and all.”

Aziraphale cleared his throat. “No. She’s, ah. She’s been distant lately. Stepping back from the wheel, so to speak. Nothing to worry about though, I’m sure it’s all in hand.”

“Oh. Well.” Everyone chose that moment to avoid eye contact with each other and instead focus solely on their tea—or, in Crowley’s case, his alcohol-disguised-as-tea.

Aziraphale stood, breaking the silence. “Would anyone care for another cup?”

“Yes, please.” Newton offered his cup obligingly. As a single dad, he’d grown accustomed to shoddy, cheap bags of black tea from the corner store. Compared to that, Aziraphale’s tasted like, well, heaven. Aziraphale nodded and, as he passed into the kitchen, refilled Crowley’s cup with the drink it had been made for. Crowley frowned. 

“So.” Newton leaned casually onto the armchair. “Tell me more about Babylon. Were the hanging gardens really a thing?”

“Oh, don’t get him started,” Aziraphale called, voice filled with humor. But it was too late; Crowley was a boulder a the top of a hill, and he’d started to roll.

“The gardens were absolutely a thing, and frankly I haven’t seen anything today that even comes close. Although I’ll give Versailles credit for trying. But honestly, the  _ skill _ of the irrigation system—and of course they had soil imported from all over the world for the native plants. Really revolutionized the entire gardening industry. The only other thing that comes close is the discovery that plants respond to verbal reinforcement, but even that’s just a small step compared to the leap the Babylonians took...”

Aziraphale took his place to Crowley’s left and shook his head, smiling anyway. Crowley could go on for hours about plants. And he did. The conversation, as conversations tended to do, flowed into the late afternoon, supplied with endless amounts of tea and biscuits and the backdrop of children playing on the floor.

The rest of London had long since gone to sleep. Only the stars were awake—the stars and an angel and a demon sitting at the corner of a kitchen table, sharing a bottle of wine.

“We can’t keep putting it off forever,” Crowley said.

“Putting what off?”

“Deciding whether or not tell her.” Crowley finished off his glass and refilled it. “Newton’s right, you know. She’s going to find out sooner or later.”

“I know.” Aziraphale sipped his own glass and glanced towards their room, where they’d stored the crib until they could get around to making a proper bedroom. “But she  _ is _ half human. I want her to just… _ be _ human for as long as possible.”

“It’s never that black and white.”

“I know,” Aziraphale repeated.

The bottle of wine they’d been sharing for the past hour was a _Chateau Bordeaux_ _1967_. It wasn’t Aziraphale’s best—those were only reserved for special occasions—but it was good enough to take the edge off, which was their only goal. It was the alcohol content they were after, not a pairing with a nice brie. Probably not the best habit, making big decisions through the faint haze of alcohol. But it had worked for the past six thousand years, and neither saw any reason to stop now. 

“How would we even tell her? How-how do you go about something like that?” Aziraphale asked. In all their years, they’d never revealed their true natures to anybody. Well, except for the lot at the Tadfield Airbase, but that had been an extreme circumstance, and aside from the odd remark or awkward pause now and then none of them mentioned it.

Crowley shook his head. “Honestly, I just kind of planned on not wearing my sunglasses around her.”

“But she’s bound to have questions!”

“So we’ll answer them.”

“We’d be walking a very fine line. There are some answers humans just aren’t meant to learn.”

Several things came to Crowley’s mind that he wisely chose not to say. Instead, he said, “I’m not going to punish her for asking questions.”

Aziraphale paled a shade. “That’s not what I meant. Only that all this would be terribly confusing for her. This isn’t just some… some maths test. We are trusting a child to prevent the ac-apot- end of the world.”

“We’ll have eleven years to get her ready,” Crowley reminded him. “It’s like for— for frogs. In pots. You put the frog in boiling water, disaster. But if you put the frog in cold water and let it heat up, frog gets used to it. Ac-acclimates.”

“She’s not a frog, Crowley, and we’re not boiling her alive.”

“Might as well be, if we throw her into the frying pan like that. I’d rather she at  _ least _ know what she’s doing.”

Aziraphale conceded the point with a drink. The color had returned to his cheeks, a shade pinker than usual. “And if we get it wrong? You saw how Wal-warlock turned out in the end. I know how you felt about him, but I’m very grateful the fate of the world was not put in his hands.”

Crowley shrugged. “I blame the parents. Not  _ our _ fault they spoiled him rotten. I mean seriously, the boy spent more time with— with the  _ gardener _ than with his own father. It’s a wonder he didn’t turn out worse.”

“All thanks to you, I suppose.”

“It was a team effort.”

They both allowed themselves to smile as they reminisced about those days with Warlock in that grand old house. No, he hadn’t been the best nor brightest of children, but they were proud of him all the same. Crowley kept all his letters in a box that supported his prize orchid and took care to respond to each and every one. Aziraphale, for his part, added the occasional tin of homemade biscuits and a standing offer to visit them anytime— so long as he phoned ahead, of course. 

“We  _ do _ make a good team, don’t we?”

Aziraphale giggled. “I should hope so, after sic-six thousand years of thwarting.”

Crowley’s long, fumbling fingers found Aziraphale’s and squeezed them tightly. “Whatever happens, we’ll face it together. Just like always.”

Aziraphale squeezed Crowley’s hand in return. The kiss he placed on Crowley’s lips was gentle, softer than the softest petals. When he pulled away, Crowley’s vision was met with eyes that could put the sky itself to shame. 

“Promise, though, that we’ll try to give her as normal a childhood as possible.”

“She’ll have the normalest, boringest childhood in the history of children. It’ll be so normal, she’ll probably sleep right through it.”

Aziraphale’s laugh didn’t sound quite convinced of Crowley’s promise and it died too quickly, but for the time it was alive it was full-bellied and light. Its ending took him closer to Crowley until his head was resting in the crook of his neck. Crowley’s free hand roamed Aziraphale’s curls, relishing the softness and the warmth and the smell of lavender and parchment. 

“I trust you,” Aziraphale murmured. 

“And I have faith in _us_. Whatever happens.” Everything else went unspoken. He was afraid, not of their own side but of the other ones. He was afraid of mistakes and wasted time. He was afraid of losing the world, and all that it contained. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear we'll start getting to actual plot soon...this is just a warmup, so to speak. All good things to those who wait! (and speaking of waiting, thanks to those of you who have beared with me and my sporadic posting schedule. I can't promise anything more regular, but I'll try not to take anymore three-month hiatuses)


	7. That Wanker Gabriel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one's a bit shorter than the others, but on the bright side! Character development! Feels! Fluff! Totally worth it, in my opinion.

In the bustle of Friday night, no one noticed two people walking together down the street. To the eyes of strangers, they looked like any other pair, lost in the conversation that only old married couples can sustain. Wandering eyes passed easily over them as part of the scenery. That suited them just fine.

“I’m not saying the Ritz is bad, I just think it’s lost its touch. Come on, you remember what it was like. The clubs, the smoking rooms. The Sign of the Dove! Now _that_ place had style. The food, the crowd, everything. Sure the Ritz looks nice, but it’s just not the same as it used to be.”

“I don’t think anything ever is, my dear, and that’s precisely the point. A bottle of wine doesn’t taste at all the same aged one year compared to a hundred.”

“Really? Care to put that claim to the test?”

Aziraphale paused at the corner, between Crowley’s beloved Bentley and the door to his beloved shop. “It’s already late. We really ought to reclaim Olivia from Newton. He’s already doing us a favor watching her.”

“We’ll return it next week. Come on; he said he’d keep her all night if we wanted.”

“It would be awfully rude to impose on him.”

“It’s one night Aziraphale.” Crowley leaned in close, letting lose that up-to-no-good smirk. “Let’s make the most of it, shall we?”

Aziraphale bit his lip only to keep his lips from performing that same smile. “Well. It’s quite the tempting offer.”

“Tell me I’ve done my job well.”

Fingers fumbled on Crowley’s shirt, pulling him in all the way. His lips met Aziraphale’s roughly, passionately, tasting lavender and vanilla and champagne. “I’ll let you know in the morning.”

Crowley felt his back land on the shop door and then go straight through it. He couldn’t tell if he was pulling Aziraphale along or if Aziraphale was pushing him, and frankly he didn’t care. His fingers found Aziraphale’s coat, his hair at the same time his lips found Aziraphale’s again. He dimly registered the bell above the door ringing as it closed, the lock sliding into place, and then a sharp voice cutting through the dim white noise of the street outside. 

“ _Aziraphale_.”

Crowley spun, one arm spreading protectively across Aziraphale’s chest. It didn’t do much good. Aziraphale stepped around him, placing himself between Crowley and the angel. “Gabriel.” Aziraphale’s voice only wavered the slightest bit, but his hand reached for Crowley behind him and squeezed until both their knuckles were white. “What do you want?”

“I came to see if you’d reconsidered my offer.” 

“Your offer? Oh. Oh that offer. Yes, well, as I said, I’m rather unable to help, I’m afraid. You’ll just, ah, have to make do without me.”

“I’m afraid that answer is unacceptable, Aziraphale.”

Impossibly, Aziraphale’s fingers squeezed tighter around Crowley’s. “That’s the only answer I have. I-I won’t help you. Not anymore.”

Gabriel’s violet eyes flicked briefly over Aziraphale’s shoulder. Crowley remembered the disgust he’d seen that day in Heaven when Gabriel thought he was sending Aziraphale to his death. This look was dulled, but nevertheless terrifying and angering all at the same time. “I see you’re still associating yourself with the enemy.”

“His name is Crowley,” Aziraphale said boldly. As his voice steadied, his grip on Crowley’s fingers loosened. “And I find his company much preferable to the alternative.”

Gabriel’s laugh sent cold shivers slithering down Crowley’s spine. “Listen to yourself Aziraphale. You’re choosing a demon over your own kind.”

“Gladly.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” He did not look sorry in the slightest. “Some of us hoped there was still some sense left in you. But it looks like I was right. You really are a lost cause.”

“No.” Although Crowley couldn’t see his face, he’d bet there was more defiance and determination there than there had been in all the previous six thousand years combined. Aziraphale’s tone was cold. Angry. Crowley was _very_ glad it was directed away from him. “I’ve found my cause. Protecting my home from Heaven and Hell and your bloody war. You never cared about the Earth. You never cared about anyone but yourselves. But if all these years have taught me anything, it’s that people like you always lose in the end. So long as I can stand, you _will_ lose.”

“That's enough. You’ve betrayed your mission, allied yourself with the enemy, disrespected your superiors, and now you stand in open rebellion of Heaven itself. Rest assured, we will find the Antichrist and win the War and when it’s done, I will personally make sure that you and your friend _will_ be punished accordingly.”

“There’s nothing you can do that I fear, Gabriel. I’m no longer yours to punish.”

“We’ll see about that,” Gabriel snarled. He stepped forward, as though to grab Aziraphale, and then white wings filled Crowley’s vision. It was a good thing, too, because the light that spilled over the tops was undeniably holy. 

Now it was his turn to grasp Aziraphale’s hand, and he did so like a man holding onto a lifeline for fear of drowning. Aziraphale gave no indication that he could feel it, or that he was even aware of Crowley’s presence still behind him. “I do not fear you, Gabriel. You may have forgotten, but I have not. I am Aziraphale, Principality, Wielder of the Flaming Sword and Guardian of the Eastern Gate. You have no power over me. Now leave, before I banish you from this mortal plane myself.”

Whatever Gabriel did, whatever stupid face he made, Crowley never got to see it. When Aziraphale lowered his wings and the holy light faded into ordinary yellow lamplight, Gabriel was gone, leaving only the smell of cool marble and an afterthought of a thunderstorm behind. Aziraphale sucked in a breath that seemed to sway him. Crowley realized that he was shaking, right down to his wings.

“Angel?”

“I…I think I ought to sit down.” Aziraphale staggered to the couch in the backroom, Crowley trailing hesitantly behind.

Now that he was facing him, Crowley could see just how pale Aziraphale was. He looked like he’d aged ten years in the few minutes Gabriel had taken to be scared off. Crowley reached to summon a bottle of alcohol, then thought better of it and offered Aziraphale a mug of cocoa instead. Drinks could come when Aziraphale stopped looking like he was about to break apart completely. 

For now, Crowley perched himself on Aziraphale’s desk chair and watched while Aziraphale nursed the cocoa and stared at a spot on the floor like he expected Gabriel to reappear with a heavenly host at his back.

“Angel?” Crowley asked when Aziraphale had finally gathered himself enough to tuck his wings away. “You alright?”

“Mmm? Ah. Yes. I-I think so. Just. Never pulled my rank like that before.”

“You did great, Aziraphale. I’m proud of you, finally standing up to that arsehole.”

“Thank you, my dear. I suppose…he really was an arse, wasn’t he?” Aziraphale giggled, just a bit. The giggle turned into a chuckle that turned into a full blown laugh that doubled Aziraphale over and nearly spilled his cocoa. His hand went to his mouth, his eyes, and then Crowley realized he wasn’t just laughing.

In an instant he was at Aziraphale’s side, putting aside the mug and working his fingers into the empty hand it left behind. “Hey, hey shhh. It’s okay.”

“I was so scared, Crowley.”

“It’s okay, you’re alright. You’re safe now.”

“For so many years, I was terrified of what he would do. I thought he would…so many years. Oh, Crowley. I’m so sorry.”

Reality came crashing down on Crowley like a lead balloon. He’d always assumed Aziraphale’s fears had been based on a vague sense of wrong-doing, a second-hand knowledge of what had happened the last time angels went rogue. It was obvious now, in the face of Gabriel’s threat, that his fears had a much more tangible source. _Rude notes_ , Aziraphale had said. Bastards, the lot of them.

“No,” Crowley breathed. “Angel, you have nothing to apologize for. You were just trying to keep us safe. You did what you thought you had to do.”

“But all this time…I should’ve stood up for myself sooner. I’m a Principality, for God’s sake! I should never have let Gabriel push me around like that. He-he was right. I’m soft.”

“Yeah, you are, and I’m _glad_ for that. I’m so glad. You’re soft, and kind, and you give more second chances than anyone ever deserves. It’s not your fault Gabriel took advantage of that. Got it? _It’s not your fault_.”

Aziraphale’s laughing sobs had quieted into breathy shudders that quaked Crowley to the bone. “I know. I know. But I’m sorry anyway.”

“Don’t be.”

“Six thousand years, Crowley, or near enough, anyway. I wasted all that time…”

“And you can spend the next six thousand making it up to me. But I don’t want you spending another second of it apologizing. Not for this.”

Aziraphale swallowed and nodded. His thumb brushed over the back of Crowley’s hand over and over, grounding himself to the touch. Crowley did the same, leaning in to press his forehead to Aziraphale’s. “It’s okay, angel. You stood up to him now, and that’s all that matters. He won’t be coming back anytime soon. And if he does, we’ll face him together, yeah?”

Aziraphale nodded again. “Yes. Together.”

They stayed that way for Someone knew how long, Crowley kneeling at Aziraphale’s feet, foreheads pressed together and holding hands like they were the last two beings on Earth. Aziraphale’s breathing slowed and softened into something more manageable, and only when it was completely steady did Crowley sit back. “Feel better?”

“Yes.”

“In that case, how about I get us some drinks? Bordeaux ’54 sound good?”

“It sounds excellent.” Aziraphale straightened, eyes straying to the clock on his desk. “Good lord, is that the time? I ought to call Newton, tell him he’ll be keeping Olivia for the night.”

“I think he’s probably figured it out by now.”

Aziraphale hummed an agreement. “Tomorrow, then. We’ll call him and explain what happened. Hopefully, he’ll understand.”

“I’m sure he will. Maybe he should keep Olive for another day, too, just in case that wanker decides he wants another reminder of who’s boss.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale tittered. A smile flickered at the edges of his lips, combatting the worry that still sprawled over the rest of his face. “I’m not his superior. Not in that sense, anyway.”

Crowley waved a dismissive hand, summoning the wine in the process. “Yeah, whatever. The hierarchy always gives me a headache. Point is, he got a taste of his own medicine. One he had a long time coming.”

“Crowley...” Aziraphale warned again. His smile was dangerously close to breaking through, poorly hidden behind lips pressed tightly together.

“Yes, angel?”

“I’m very glad you’re here, my dear. And I’m glad I finally got enough sense knocked into me to choose the right side.”

Crowley offered Aziraphale a glass and then took his place on the sofa next to him, raising his cup in a silent toast. Aziraphale met it with the quiet clink of crystal on crystal, and when he lowered the glass, his smile had broken all the way through to crinkle the corners of his eyes in the way Crowley just adored. “Me too, angel. Me too.”


	8. Soldier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moments in time between Aziraphale and his daughter

“Read me a story, papa?” Olivia’s small fist tugged on Aziraphale’s sweater, breaking his chain of thought. He’d been immersed in photocopies of an old Norse text for the better part of the morning, and it took him a moment to re-align himself with the English language. He blinked and looked down at Olivia. She’d all but perfected what Anathema referred to as ‘puppy-dog eyes’; wide and pleading.

“In a little bit. I’m working,” he replied.

The tugging persisted. “Please?”

“Not right now.” Aziraphale gently detached her hand from his sweater.

“But I’m bored!”

“Why don’t you go ask Daddy? I’m sure he’d love to read to you.”

Olivia pursed her lips in a distinctly familiar fashion, but Aziraphale couldn’t quite place it. “He’s out doing mischief.”

Aziraphale huffed a laugh. From the mouths of babes indeed. “Alright then, go pick out a book or two.” Hopefully that would keep her occupied for a bit.

“I already got one!” Olivia brandished a book over her head like a trophy, grinning like she’d won it fair and square.

Aziraphale read the title, then readjusted his spectacles and read it again. “Oh,” he said, and then cleared his throat. “Ah. I’m not sure…I don’t think this is quite…where exactly did you find this?”

Olivia held Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure close to her chest, still beaming. “I found it on the bottom shelf.”

The answer wasn’t really useful in the slightest, but then again he couldn’t expect a four-year-old to know much about literary organization. Especially not the way he did it. He prepared to ask her something else, something more along the lines of whether she actually understood the contents of the book, when she answered that for him too. “What’s a Woman of Pleasure?”

Aziraphale cleared his throat again and strongly considered stalling for time with a cup of tea. “Well, you see,” he started. He paused, for a third and final throat clearing, supplemented with a few hems and haws. “Olivia, I really don’t think this subject or this book is appropriate for someone your age. And anyway I really should get back to work. Why don’t you go read by yourself, or play with your dolls?” With that, he plucked the book from her hands and shelved it firmly out of her reach.

Olivia stomped her foot. Despite wearing socks, the noise made an unignorable sound of frustration. “Papa you are being infuriating!”

It wasn’t so much the stomp or the tone that made Aziraphale freeze. He stared at her for a long moment, absorbing the angry pout and the stiffly crossed arms, and laughed. “My dear, where on earth did you learn that word?”

“You call daddy it when he’s done something you don’t like.”

That didn’t sound at all like Aziraphale, but that didn’t change the fact that Olivia had somehow picked it up and inserted it neatly into her vocabulary. Aziraphale chuckled, which didn’t help Olivia’s mood at all. Her arms crossed over her chest. “I am serious.”

“I know you are,” Aziraphale said, trying and failing to hide his amusement. Pushing his chair out a bit, he reached over and hefted Olivia onto his lap. Frustration still radiated off her in waves, evidenced by her stubborn frown and still-crossed arms. “I’m sorry, love. I know you’re cross with me and I shouldn’t laugh. But I do need to work.”

“But it’s boring!”

That elicited another laugh from Aziraphale. “It’s actually quite interesting. If you like, I could read some of it to you?”

Olivia’s scowl flickered just slightly. Aziraphale recognized that expression; it was the same one Crowley made when he stopped being angry but didn’t want to admit it just yet. Aziraphale took it as a yes. “Look, this is some very old writing from Norway, where people called vikings lived a long time ago. I know how to speak their language, so it’s my job to read what they wrote and write it back down in English. See?”

Olivia wavered between feigned annoyance and curiosity. Finally curiosity won out, and she traced her fingers across the ancient runes. “These are words?”

“Yes. These are words, just like the ones in your books. Only these ones are hundreds of years old, and nobody uses them anymore.”

“What does it say?”

“Well, this part is a bit of a Norse myth about the brothers Loki and Thor. The vikings worshipped them as gods, you see, and told lots of stories about them and many other gods.”

“Kind of like the Bible?”

“Not exactly. You see, the stories Vikings told were more like the ones Daddy sometimes tells you at bedtime. They were made up, and changed depending on who told it. But by reading them today we can lean a lot about who the Vikings were and what values they held.”

“So what’s this story?”

Aziraphale smiled, resituated Olivia on his knee, and began to tell the tale again from the beginning.

As Aziraphale had discovered shortly after his interaction with the very first child, children in general tended to be unpredictable. Not just in the ’self-inflicted haircuts’ and paint over the walls way, but in that they tended to pick things up faster than most adults would like, and then they flung those things back at said adults when they were least expecting it. Frankly, it was all Aziraphale and Crowley could do to keep up, and even then, for all their efforts and late-night discussions, they often ended up completely and totally behind the times.

“If Satan punishes bad people,” Olivia asked as she handed him another bible to shelve. “Doesn’t that make him the good guy?”

“HA!” Crowley’s head appeared around the corner, shortly followed by the rest of him. He appeared entirely far too smug for his own good. “Go on, angel,” he said, sounding even worse than he looked. “Tell her.”

Aziraphale mustered up his best scathing look, which had absolutely no effect when Crowley was that infuriatingly confident. “I can assure you, my dear,” he said to Olivia, “that Satan is not a good person.”

“The how come he punishes bad people? Or are they not really bad?”

“No, no, most of them are deserving of punishment.”

“I don’t know,” Crowley interrupted. “Mozart seemed pretty alright to me. Never really thought a few wild parties was enough to condemn a man to eternal suffering.”

“But he was Catholic!” Aziraphale protested.

Crowley dismissed the excuse with a wave. “Doesn’t matter. He never killed anyone, did he?”

“That doesn’t matter. The standards are different and you know it.”

Olivia was pulling on Aziraphale’s sleeve again. “If Satan is bad, how come he only punishes bad people?”

“It’s…”

“Complicated?” Olivia guessed. Although it wasn’t much of a guess, considering that about half the answers to her questions could be described as such.

Aziraphale sighed. “Well. Yes. That question merits a great amount of discussion, and many humans today still argue about the answer. But the short of it is that he likes to hurt people, and it just so happens that only people who do bad things are sent to him. I’m sure that if he had his way, he would gladly hurt every soul on the planet. That’s part of the reason why—“ He stopped himself short, but Olivia could read the answer on his face.

“Why he sent me. So he could hurt people.”

Aziraphale looked to Crowley for aid. Crowley removed his glasses and knelt so he was eye-to-eye with Olivia. “That’s what he wants. But it’s not what you want, and that’s what matters. I promise, you’ll never hurt anyone you don’t want to.”

“Preferably you won’t hurt anyone,” Aziraphale chimed in. The look on Crowley’s face suggested that this was not the time for an ethics lesson. “But Crowley is right. You’re in control of your own destiny. No matter what Satan wants, he can’t have it unless you give it to him.”

Olivia chewed on that information and on her bottom lip. Her dark eyes fixed on a point over Crowley’s shoulder. She nodded once, decisively, and concern cleared itself from her face. “Good.”

With that out of the way, she returned dutifully to her task of haphazardly shelving the bibles by frequency and alphabetical order of misprints. Aziraphale could say with almost divine clarity that this conversation wasn’t over, but he let sleeping demons lie for the moment, and continued his task alongside her.

  
  


“‘ _“Oh, thank you—thank you!” Cried the Scarecrow. “I’ll find a way to use them, never fear!” “But how about”_ ’—Olivia, are you listening?”

Olivia sat up guiltily, tearing her gaze from the window. “Sorry Papa.”

“I’ve told you before, if you won’t listen then you’ll have to read it yourself.”

“Sorry. I’m listening now.” She folded her hands on the kitchen table, presenting the perfect picture of rapt attention, but Aziraphale could tell her mind was already wandering. With a small huff of dismay, he closed the Wonderful Wizard of Oz.

“No you’re not. You haven’t been paying attention all day.”

Olivia focused on her thumbs, pressing them together. “Can I go outside?”

“After we’re done with lessons.”

She shifted in her seat, still avoiding the angel. “Can I go by myself? Just to Simon’s house? Please?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“You know why. Now here, page 132.”

Olivia slid the book in front of her and began reading, chin resting on one fist. Aziraphale watched her for a moment, then rose and set about making lunch. Despite having lived for over 6000 years, his culinary knowledge had never been so tested and expanded as the short years in which most meals were now directed towards Olivia. It was quite an adjustment, substituting linguine with squid ink sauce for Mac n’ cheese and perfecting the art of making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. According to Anathema and Newt, Olive’s tastes were still much broader than the average six-year-old, but that still left a lot of things off the menu.

“Grilled cheese or a turkey sandwich?”

“Grilled cheese!” Olivia answered eagerly. “With tomatoes, please!”

“Alright then.”

To his credit, Aziraphale was quite good at fixing those basic foods. And, when done right, they were almost as good as a Cornish cod from the AW. Soon enough, the smell of butter and melting cheese warmed the kitchen. The kettle whistled, the bread sizzled in the pan, and the occasional dry rasp of a turning page added a tempo to the afternoon. Soon enough Aziraphale had produced two sandwiches- one with tomato, and one with tomato, mushrooms, olive oil, and thyme. He still had standards, after all.

Olivia pushed aside the book and eagerly dug into her lunch, spreading golden crumbs across her face.

“So,” Aziraphale prompted. “What did you learn from this chapter?”

“That you shouldn’t trust people in charge just because they’re in charge. And especially if they have to use smoke and fire to scare you into listening to them.”

Aziraphale coughed a bit on a chunk of mushroom. While technically correct, that wasn’t quite the answer that he was expecting. Frankly it had taken him centuries to reach that conclusion, and then it had taken another few centuries and the end of the world to pluck up the courage and admit it. “That’s…what makes you say that?”

“Well, the wizard of Oz was just an old man behind a curtain who was too scared to do anything himself, so he scared Dorothy and her friends into getting rid of the witch for him. People who try to frighten other people into doing what they want are just bullies.”

“An excellent point, my dear.” Aziraphale smiled. Even if it had taken him far longer to decide the same for himself, he was proud that Olive was smart enough to see through such tactics. Her next question nearly made him choke on his sandwich again.

“The angels you used to work with were kind of like the Wizard of Oz, weren’t they?”

“How— how do you mean?”

“You said they weren’t very nice to you, and that they wanted you to do bad things for them. And sometimes they scared you into helping them. Just like the Wizard of Oz.”

“Well. Yes. But things were a lot more complicated back then. I was worried that God would be angry if I didn’t do my job, even if that meant doing things I didn’t want to. And sometimes such things have to be done, for the greater good.”

“What’s that mean? The greater good?”

“It means for the good of everyone. Like, for example, if one person had to give up their sandwich so that many other people could eat.”

“Why don’t they just share?”

Aziraphale laughed lightly. If only the whole world could be seen through the eyes of a child. “Sometimes they can’t. I’m afraid, as much as we want otherwise, the world just isn’t that fair.”

“It should be.”

“I couldn’t agree more. But that’s the way it is, I’m afraid. Sometimes it’s fair, sometimes there are bullies, and sometimes there are sacrifices. However, that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t still try to change things for the better. All we need is the wisdom, and compassion, and courage to do so.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to be cheesy and name some chapters after songs. Specifically, this one and the next two are from Soldier, Poet, King. It's honestly a very cute song.


	9. Poet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More struggles of raising the Antichrist, this time with Crowley!

If the plants that used to live in Crowley’s apartment knew what went on in the garden next to a particular cottage in South Downs, they would’ve rioted. They’d spent a good portion of their lives living in fear, growing beyond perfection to avoid the terrible fate that awaited beyond their coldly lit room. Although the ones that were removed soon discovered the extent of their fate, it was a small comfort compared to years of terror and scapegoating for a particular demon’s parental and self-worth issues. As it was, if plants could give looks and if looks could kill, said demon would’ve been discorporated long ago.

The garden next to the cottage, on the other hand, couldn’t have been happier. A demon and a little girl worked among the stakes of tomatoes and beans, the rows of lavender and dianthus, and in the corner a bed of wildflowers standing to face the sun. Any ordinary person would’ve been impressed and a tad jealous; any professional gardener or landscaper would’ve been downright livid at the impossible perfection and might have even considered sabotage. All in all, the plants in the garden agreed, life couldn’t have been better.

“Do you remember what this one is called?” Crowley asked, gesturing to the collection of unpotted leaves next to them.

Olivia finished the last of the holes and sat back, wiping her dirty hands on her shirt. Aziraphale would have a fit at the stains. “Could we call it Claude?”

Crowley smiled over the rim of his glasses. “If you can tell me its proper name first.”

“Mums, also known as Chrysanthemum indicum.” She took her time pronouncing the Latin, careful not to stumble.

“That’s right. And where is it from originally?”

“They’re native to Asia and Northeast Europe. It usually only grows from August to October, but you’ve asked these ones to bloom all summer ‘cause they’re good at keeping pests away.”

Pride glowed in Crowley’s chest. “Spot on. Now let’s get Claude into the ground. Here, keep hold of the pot. Gently.”

One by one they removed the bunches from their plastic containers and laid them around the perimeter of the garden. Olivia did a fine job of covering herself in soil and leaves, but the dirt didn’t dare touch Crowley. As they planted, Crowley murmured soft words of encouragement. He still shouted at the plants in the apartment once in a while, but he knew that it was more important that Olivia have a good role model than his plants have a good sense of fear. Olivia seemed totally absorbed in her work, but halfway through burying both her bare toes and the mums, she spoke.

“Daddy?”

“Mmm?”

“Do I have a mum?”

Crowley jerked so hard he nearly ripped a bunch of innocent chrysanthemums from their new home. “Ngk. Ah. That’s. Hmmm. Well. It’s complicated.”

“Asteria said that everyone has a mum and a dad because that’s how babies are made.”

“She’s…not wrong.” Crowley hoped that would be the end of it, at least until he could get a minute to talk with Aziraphale. They’d never actually sat down and decided what they were going to tell her; it had all just sort of came out in bits and pieces, like the first time she read one of Aziraphale’s bibles and asked if God was real. What else could they tell her but the truth?

Olivia sat up, pushing her hair out of her face and smearing dirt all over her cheek in the process. She was too smart for her own good sometimes. Like now, when she looked at him with those brown eyes as if she already knew the answer. Crowley set the last of the mums in the soil bed scooted over to her. His dexterous fingers began the job of untangling and rebraiding her hair. Not that it would do much good; her braids never lasted more than five minutes before they turned into a wild mess down her back, but at least she wasn’t staring right through him anymore.

“If Adam is my half-brother, does that mean Satan is my dad?”

“Er,” Crowley said again, which probably wasn’t as helpful as he hoped. “I mean. Yeah. Kind of.”

“Oh.”

“Like I said, it’s complicated.”

Olivia lasted a whole twenty-six seconds absorbing this answer. “Can you try and explain it anyway?”

“Erm.” Crowley cast about for a way to stall for time and came up with exactly nothing. “Well I suppose you already know Aziraphale and I aren’t your real dads.”

“Yeah.”

“My— well he’s not really my brother, it’s complicated, but Lucifer is your dad. And he had you because he doesn’t like the earth or the people who live here very much.”

“Why?”

“He has parental issues. Complicated.”

“I see,” Olivia said much more sagely than a five year old should ever sound. “What about my mum?”

Crowley was able to escape that answer for a few seconds by holding her hairband in his mouth while he finished off her braid. Already a few whips were coming loose at the top. If Crowley didn’t know better, he would think it was the result of demonic interference. Which meant it absolutely was. “I imagine your mother was human,” he mused when his mouth was free. “Adam is half-human, so it stands to reason you would be too.”

“Do we have the same mum, do you think?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

Olivia turned around, but her gaze was firmly planted on her hands, which pushed little holes in the rich earth. “If Lucifer is my dad, and he’s bad, does that make me bad too? Is that why my mum didn’t want me?”

Crowley’s hands reached for his daughter’s, and he didn’t care at all that dirt rubbed off on his fingers. “Look at me. Hey. Look. You are who you want to be. No one else can decide that for you. Not Lucifer, or Aziraphale, or me, or anyone. I don’t know why your mother didn’t want you, or if she even knew what she was doing, but I’m so, so glad that she didn’t because otherwise I wouldn’t have you. And between you and Aziraphale, I can count myself the happiest demon on earth. Alright?”

Olivia nodded, and sniffed a little, and wiped her nose on her arm which really only served to make both even more filthy.

“I love you, and Aziraphale loves you, and nothing you do can ever change that.”

“I love you too Daddy. I think you’re a better dad than dumb old Lucifer anyway.”

Crowley cupped her cheek and gave her his best smile. “That’s my girl. Now, I think Claude and I could both use a drink. What say you get the watering can and I’ll get us some lemonade, hmm?”

Although Olivia still had that pensive look on her face, she seemed to perk up as she ran off to fill the can. When she disappeared around the corner Crowley finally allowed himself to slump in exhaustion. He’d have to have a long talk with Aziraphale tonight, and maybe another one with both him and Olivia tomorrow. He had sworn long ago that he’d never discourage curiosity, but Someone if he didn’t share just the slightest bit of empathy with God all those millennia ago. Who knew questions could be so damning?

His gaze fell on the freshly planted mums, which might be watching him with raised eyebrows, if plants did indeed have eyebrows and the capacity to use them. “What are you looking at?” Crowley growled. The mums, having no discipline or sense of self-preservation, continued to smugly grow.

\------------------------------------  
  


He was dreaming again. No, not just dreaming. Having a nightmare. He was falling; he could see the tiny blue dot below, rushing to greet him. Wind thundered in his ears. A burning spear of pain drove itself through the center of his shoulder blades. And he wasn’t falling alone. A pair of white wings fluttered helplessly in the air beside him. The figure twisted, revealing terror in his blue eyes.

“Aziraphale!” Crowley shouted, stretching out to the angel. But he couldn’t reach. They were falling too fast, and Aziraphale screamed, and Crowley’s golden eyes flew open.

Someone really was screaming. Aziraphale was already halfway out of bed, summing holy light under his breath. His book lay discarded on the sheets. Crowley reached for his hand. “No, it’s alright. I’ll go.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” Whatever danced in Crowley’s eyes, it was enough to convince Aziraphale.

“Alright,” he conceded, slipping back into bed. “But take a candle. The lights have gone out, and I don’t know when they’ll come back on.”

“Right.” Crowley gave his angel a half smile and padded out into the flat. They didn’t have many candles—there wasn’t much need when Aziraphale could summon light with a simple word—but there were a few from the old summoning circle, now used mostly for romantic dinners. Crowley dug one out from the back of a drawer and snapped it on. The flame flickered and waved in the night air. Now that he was properly awake, Crowley could see the storm outside. Rain threatened to crack the windows and, as he made sure they were shut tight, lightning arched over London. The thunder that followed seemed to split his ears. Over the roar, he heard the scream again.

By all means—architectural, physical, and logical—Olivia’s bedroom shouldn’t have existed. It wasn’t drawn on any floor plans, and from the outside it looked as though there was simply nowhere to put it. And yet there it was. The door was placed in what should’ve been the wall shared with flat next door, and a few windows were scattered against a suspiciously nice view of the park.

His heart leapt into his throat at the sight of her empty bed, illuminated by blue-white lighting and orange candlelight. But he could hear quiet, ragged breathing somewhere close by. She was safe, wherever she was.

He found Olivia curled in her closet, holding her stuffed shark to her chest like a shield. “Daddy! It’s the angels—they’re coming! They’re trying to get in!”

Crowley knelt just outside the closet door, setting the candle aside. “Oh, no, sweetheart. It’s just the storm.”

Olivia shook her head and pressed tighter against the wall. A sobbing cry tore from her throat as lightning flashed again. “They’re coming to take me away! I don’t want to go!”

“No one’s making you go anywhere. I promise.” Crowley held out a hand, silently hoping she’d take it. She might not have, if a clap of thunder hadn’t sent her scurrying into his arms. “It’s alright,” he murmured, rocking her gently. “I’ve got you. You’re safe. You’re safe,” he repeated like a mantra, a stream of soft reassurances. When she’d calmed down slightly, he scooped her up and brought her back to her bed. She pressed close to him, like ivy to a wall, burying her face in his hair. It was past his shoulders now, long enough for Olivia braid. At the moment, it fell in soft waves to muffle her quiet sobs.

Crowley ran fingers through her tangled locks. “Was it a nightmare?” She nodded into his nightshirt. “Would you like to know a secret?” Another nod. “I get nightmares too,” Crowley whispered.

Lightning briefly illuminated wide, nearly black eyes. “I thought angels and demons didn’t need to sleep. Ever.”

“Well, technically, yeah. But I’ve gotten myself into the habit. I rather like dreaming.”

“What…what do you have nightmares about?”

Crowley sighed. It took him another roll of thunder to reply. “Falling.”

“Oh.” Olivia contemplated the answer in that serious way of hers. “That sounds scary.”

“It is,” he admitted. “But then I wake up, and I’ve got you and Zira to remind me that it’s only a dream. That’s all. Just a bad dream.”

“Mine seemed so real,” she whispered. “I dreamed they were here. They took you and papa away, and then they…” Whatever else had happened in her dream, she kept it to herself. Crowley tucked her under his arm. Together, they listened to the rain beating out a rhythm on the roof.

“Would you like me to read to you?” he asked when the candle was halfway burned and Olivia had stopped trembling. She shook her head. “Good, ‘cause you know I don’t do books. And I’m a rubbish reader compared to you.”

That almost got a smile from her. She readjusted herself under his arm and closed her eyes against the bright white of the lightning outside. “Tell me a story.”

“What kind of story would you like? I know a good one about a doctor in a magic box.”

“No.” She shook her head again slightly. “Tell me a story about you and papa.”

“Okay. Make yourself comfortable.” She obliged, looking both exhausted and content. “Once upon a time,” Crowley began. “There was a garden…”

By the time he’d finished the story, Olivia was nearly asleep. She stirred as he pulled his arm out from under her head. “Did you save the world? In the end?” She asked, on the verge of dreaming.

Crowley smiled, although it was lost to the dark room. “Yeah. A little bit.”


	10. King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some quality Antichrist bonding time

Adam was babysitting. Olivia could barely hold in her excitement in the week leading up to her fathers’ date night. Although she normally loved staying with one of Asteria’s parents or Aunt Tracy, her half-brother was only home from college for a few weeks out of the year, and she had to make the most of those weeks while she could. The second she heard her papa open the door, Olivia bolted down the cottage stairs.

“Adam!”

“Hey, hellspawn!” Olivia returned the nickname with a tackling hug that almost threw him off balance. “Did you grow since I last saw you?”

“A whole nine centimeters!” She declared proudly. She had the marks on the kitchen doorway to prove it.

“Oh no! I’ve told you before; you’re not allowed to grow!” Adam pressed down on the top of her head with both hands, as if he could compress the three inches she’d sprouted back into her spine. He did this every time, determined that he’d stay taller than her. Considering she was only eight and all the way up to his chest, that outcome was become less and less likely.

Off to the side, Crowley helped Aziraphale with his camel-hair coat. “I see you two have everything in order. Try not to wreck the house while we’re gone, alright?”

“Yes, sir.” Adam mocked a salute. Other people might’ve shown a bit more respect towards an angel and a demon, but considering the both of them had made a disaster of the apocalypse and they were all on equal footing in terms of power, Adam showed them the same respect as he did to any old friends. That is to say, almost none.

“And you remember, bedtime is—“

“At nine.”

“Yes, and no deserts—“

“Before dinner or after eight. Yes, Aziraphale, I know. Now get out of here before you waste the whole evening nagging me about the rules.”

Aziraphale pursed his lips to hide a smile and allowed himself to be ushered out by his demon. “Oh, and don’t forget!” Whatever Adam wasn’t supposed to forget was blocked by the front door closing firmly between them.

“Can we order pizza?” Olivia asked. She already knew what the answer was going to be, but it was good to at least put up the pretense.

“I don’t know…are there leftovers in the fridge?” Adam asked with rehearsed innocence.

“Probably not,” Olivia replied.

“Well then, I don’t see any harm in ordering in. Now, you want anchovies and green peppers, right? And lots and lots of mushrooms.”

Olivia made a face. “Gross! You can eat all that stuff. I want pepperoni and black olives.”

“I think your idea sounds way better. One pepperoni and black olive pizza, coming up.”

Half an hour later, both spawns of Satan were definitely not eating pizza on the couch, because it was agains the rules, and trying desperately to cheat at chess.

“My knight’s better with a sword than yours,” Olivia informed Adam seriously as she removed his piece from the board.

“Ah, but can he take on three separate pawns at once?” Adam pushed all three pieces forward to surround the poor knight.

“She happens to be the best knight there ever was, so there.” And all three pawns were ruthlessly murdered by the black knight, who personally was appalled by all the bloodshed. 

Adam nodded sagely. “It appears that I’m outmatched. Truly, you’ve got a fine army. However, I don’t think they’ll be any match for my secret weapon.”

“What secret weapon?” Olivia demanded.

“The worst kind. The kind that can topple armies and level cities. The kind that drives fear into the hearts of all who behold it. Prepare yourself…for the pillow attack!” Adam produced a pillow from behind his back and decimated both Olivia’s troops and his own in one fell swoop. He managed to get a few good hits in on Olivia herself before she retaliated with a pillow of her own. Aziraphale would have a fit when he saw his throw-pillows all stretched and misshapen, not to mention the rapidly-deteriorating state of the rest of the living room. Unless, of course, Adam put it back to rights before the parents came home, which he always did. Most of the time. More or less.

Olivia squealed and disarmed Adam with a good smack across the face. In the next second, she’d pinned him down on top of the couch and held the pillow over his head, ready to deliver the final blow.

“Wait! Mercy, please!”

She considered the plea with a cold, calculating look. “What will you give me for your life?”

“Anything! Anything at all!”

“Even extra dessert?”

“Yes!”

“And I can watch cartoons on your laptop?”

“Of course! Even the really dumb ones.”

Olivia lowered the pillow a fraction of an inch. “I suppose that could be considered a worthy trade.”

“Oh good. That means I won’t have to use this!” With a triumphant laugh, Adam sprang up and hit her with the pillow that had somehow, perhaps even miraculously, ended up back in his hand.

“No fair! You cheated!”

“Did not!”

“Did too!” Olivia pouted, abandoning her own weapon. Cheating was fine so long as it was fair, but now the game was ruined. “You used your powers; that’s cheating! I don’t even have mine yet!”

“All’s fair in love and war,” Adam teased.

“No it’s not." When I get my powers, I’ll make sure everything is fair. No more cheaters.” That wasn’t such a bad thing, was it? She was going to make the world a better place, not destroy it. Adam’s intense frown said otherwise. His pillow dropped, forgotten, onto the couch.

“No, you shouldn’t… you shouldn’t use your powers to change things like that.”

“Why not? I want to fix things, help people. I’m not going to do the apocalypse.”

“I know,” Adam assured her, although the waver in his voice was anything but reassuring. “But any big changes, even the kind you think are for the best, really only do more harm than good.”

“How do you know?” Olivia asked, accusation and curiosity mixing together into suspicion.

“Because I tried to do the same thing.”

No, that wasn’t right. Olivia had heard the story more times than she could count. Her dads had tracked Adam to Tadfield thanks in no small part to Asteria's mother. Overcoming obstacles from Heaven and Hell, they got to the airbase just as Adam was putting an end to the horsemen and Asteria’s parents were stopping nuclear war. They dealt with Satan together and everything went back to normal. The End. There was nothing in there about Adam almost destroying everything in an attempt to make it better. “How come?”

“Well, I had the same intentions as you, I suppose. I wanted to fix everything.” Adam sat heavily on the couch, pillow pulled to his chest like a plate of armor. Olivia curled up in her Papa’s big, comfy armchair, her eyes fixed on her half-brother.

“Tell me what happened.”

Adam took a deep breath and told her. He spoke about a young boy who met a nice woman who was an occultist, not a witch, and who taught him all about humanity’s stupidity. He learned about Tibetans digging tunnels under the earth and aliens descending from the sky and how the planet probably wouldn’t live to see another century if things kept going the way they were. Adam spoke about Dog’s arrival on the same day that he started to feel funny, an itching under his skin and a nagging in the back of his head that he couldn’t get rid of. How he kept making things happen without even knowing, and then he did Know and it was wonderful and terrible. How he wanted to make the world better, perfect, and he almost lost his friends because of it. He almost destroyed the world because of it.

Olivia absorbed the story with wide eyes, hardly daring to breath. Three years seemed a lifetime away now, but all of a sudden the responsibility loomed in front of her. Adam was funny, and clever, and nice, and if he could almost end everything without even knowing what he was doing, what would she do when the time came?

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Olivia’s gaze fixed on some spot on the carpet where she was sure she’d spilled hot chocolate years ago but which was now, miraculously stain-free. She could feel Adam’s intense eyes on her. Humans could look intense, she knew, but this felt different. It felt almost like he knew what she was feeling. And maybe he did. He was the original antichrist, after all.

“How did you not?” She asked the carpet. Her eyes flicked up to meet his impeccable blue ones. They were darker, more solid than Papa’s. Purer. “How did you stop destroying everything, even though you wanted to?”

Adam smiled then, and this time it did feel tentatively reassuring. “The trick is to find something about the world worth saving. For me, it was my friends. I realized that what I was doing made them unhappy, and they wouldn’t want to be friends with me if I ended the world. So I didn’t.”

Olivia chewed on another thought. “Do you still want to, sometimes? End the world?”

Adam didn’t respond immediately. His intense look turned inwards, reflecting. “Sometimes,” He admitted. “It’s not like I want to snap my fingers and turn everything into dust. But I do get urges, sometimes. To just fix things. Make it perfect. Regrow the rainforests, bring back all the whales and pandas and frogs and everything else. End hunger, sickness, war. But I know that that’s not my place. It’s not right to fix all those things that easily. If I did, nobody would learn anything. People were meant to make their own decisions, to learn and grow. I can't do that for them, no matter how bad things get or how much I want to. Do you understand?”

“I think so,” Olivia replied achingly slowly. She did understand why Adam had almost done what he’d done, and why he’d stopped. But she still worried that she wouldn’t be able to show the same restraint when the time came.

“And listen,” Adam continued. “If you ever need anything, you can talk to me, yeah? I know how rough it is going through it by yourself, and there’s no need for you go through it alone too.”

“Thanks, Adam.”

“Don’t mention it. That’s what brothers are for, right? Hellspawns got to stick together.”

That brought out a hesitant grin. He was right, of course. Olivia wouldn’t be going through this alone. She’d have Papa, and Daddy, and Adam, and Asteria. She knew what she was facing. Doubt still gnawed away, but she could shove it aside for now. Her eleventh birthday was ages away.

“Could I have some ice cream?” She asked. She hadn't had desert yet and, more importantly, she needed something else to think about besides her impending trial. “Please?”

Adam glanced at the clock. She already knew what time it was. Nine-fifteen; well past her desert curfew. Just to push it, she gave him her best pleading look.

“Well…I suppose a little ice cream wouldn’t hurt. So long as you don’t tell your dads.”

“I won’t!” She promised. “Cross my heart.”

The two Antichrists indulged themselves in ice cream (again definitely not on the couch, where deserts were also not allowed), followed by warm milk for Olivia and an alcoholic cider for Adam that hadn’t been in the fridge before he’d opened it. They rounded out the evening with a rousing videogame on Adam’s phone, played well past Olivia’s bedtime, and when her fathers returned they found Adam reading and Olivia curled up next to him on the couch, sound asleep and dreaming of whatever she liked best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi Y'all! I just wanted to assure you that I'm still working on this (as of June 2, 2020), I've just been really busy and emotionally stressed lately. Fortunately, summer break is on the horizon and I fully intend to publish the next few chapters, if not finish the story entirely, by mid-July. So don't worry, this fic isn't abandoned, I'm just the worst when it comes to consistent updates.


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